Until her Heart's Last Beat
by CharleyPensPrettyWords
Summary: Hermione Granger is deep in a murder case. Draco Malfoy is the recently returned hero-of-the-hour. When the case gets personal, Draco is assigned as Hermione's security detail. They forge an unlikely partnership and strive to stop the killer before he can claim more victims in his sinister scheme, a scheme that may threaten Hermione's very life.
1. Another One Bites the Dust

DISCLAIMER: (which applies from this point and on) All characters belong to the ingenious J.K. Rowling. I can only hope to one day claim fame and fortune for having created a literary realm as inspired as the Harry Potter universe.

AN #1: For anyone who is curious, the chapter titles are drawn from a combination of Queen and Foreigner songs. If you haven't listened to either of these bands' music, you absolutely need to. It's real blood pumping stuff; gets the writing gene a-rolling.

AN #2: This story may potentially contain dark or violent material. Be warned that it begins with sensitive material. If sexual violence is not something you can stomach, please be advised to proceed with caution. I try to treat this serious issue with as much sensitivity as possible. Similarly, this story will contain one or two mature moments of sexual intimacy. I don't write extraneous mature content, I only write it if it serves the plot and I write it tastefully.

AN #3: I'll try to update bi-weekly or weekly, it depends on the workload I'm managing at school. I love comments and feedback on character, plot, and writing style. As a writer, I feed off of critique and commentary to improve myself, and to be totally honest, I really just love to hear from people who are enjoying the story and excited about what's to come. So reviews are most welcome!

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><p>CHAPTER ONE:<p>

_Another One Bites the Dust_

He panted heavily, hands fisted in her soft, honey-brown curls. His hips thrust mercilessly against hers. She had stopped screaming after the third time. He growled as he felt his release nearing and picked up his brutal pace. He smacked her hard across the face meriting an agonized moan. That sound of subordination, of defeat, was all he needed. He released himself inside her hot channel and lowered himself over her bloodied, battered body. She lay limp beneath his weight—a flightless creature broken beyond repair.

He laid his head against her chest which shook beneath him with every painful gasp of breath she drew into her lungs, and every sob that wracked her dried throat. He stroked her breasts, but did not respond to his touch, her mind safely locked away in a place beyond feeling, in a place completely dissociated from sensation.

It was nearly dawn now. The living would be coming out soon to live out their petty, selfish little lives. It was time to bring this game to the spotlight. Straddling her with his knees, he lifted himself above her and lightly wrapped his hands around her fragile throat. He applied slight pressure. Her dark brown eyes flew open with terror. The fight was back in her now that the threat had suddenly changed. This wasn't about preserving dignity, this was about preserving life. She had fought and lost the battle for her body. Now she was fighting the battle for her life.

He tightened his grip, feeling her pulse rage desperately against his hand. She clawed at his hands, at his arms, to no avail. Her vibrant brown eyes began to dim, her desperate fight turned futile and weak. He watched with sadistic delight as the life slowly left her chocolate eyes. He knew then that he would rule another day.

.cppw.

Hermione stared at the woman's lifeless body, oblivious to the auror homicide team that bustled about the crime scene. There were countless emotions running through her at that moment – anger, frustration, weariness, and fear. Traces of hostile magic had been detected in a muggle neighbourhood and the Ministry's Department of Internal Defence had dispatched a group of aurors to investigate with Hermione assigned as the official investigator. Consequently, they had found Emerda Timmons' bruised and bleeding body. She had received multiple beatings, and traces of dark magic had been found within her. As the speculative report went, the victim had been first brutally tortured, then raped several times. The cause of death was officially strangulation.

It was enough to turn the strongest of stomachs. It was enough to send Hermione into a fit of anger. This was the second murder she had overseen in three weeks. The previous had also been a brunette who had been tortured, raped and strangled to death. Those similarities were enough to convince Hermione that they had something infinitely more sinister than a simple murderer on their hands. They had a serial killer. This logical connection existed solely in her mind at the moment, but she was convinced of its veracity. She would have to bring it up to Kingsley back at the Ministry.

Emerda Timmons' body had been discovered in the parking lot of a muggle elementary school, Hermione's old elementary school to be exact – which was a little unsettling and too close for comfort for Hermione's liking. As a result of the high frequency of muggle traffic in the area, the team was operating under a powerful glamour. They had to clear the scene before the local authorities could complicate her investigation.

Harry came over to her then, waving a hand before her distant gaze. She blinked.

"Sorry. What is it?"

Harry frowned, squeezing her shoulder with a firm hand. They had been best friends since they were eleven, and now, fifteen years later, Harry knew her better than anyone else in her life. After leaving Hogwarts and maturing into a young man, he had grown more attuned to her emotions, which was how he could tell by her blank, slightly teary gaze, that his best and brightest friend was greatly upset.

"I know it's hard," he said gently. "With this being your old school, it must taint some of those innocent childhood memories."

Hermione shrugged. She was less upset about her school being the scene of a gruesome murder, than with the fact that another woman had been murdered.

"It's close to home. If you want to know what's really upsetting me, then you should know that our murderer has built himself a profile," she stated, voice level, which surprised her since internally she was simply vibrating with vitriol.

"A profile? How? Is there something else you have on this guy?" he asked, gaze narrowed.

Hermione turned away from the gory scene. They were moving the body now. She didn't need to see more. It was time for Emerda to have peace. She walked away, towards the rusty red swing set she used to swing on as a little girl. Harry followed. Together they sat side by side.

"Do you remember the murder from three weeks ago?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Young brunette. Tortured, raped, strangled…" he trailed off, gaze turning sharply to Hermione. "Blimey," he breathed. "You don't think…?"

Hermione raised her dark brows. "I do."

"But a serial killer? Merlin. That's a serious notion. You sure you want to present that to the minister? I mean, I know the similarities are blaringly obvious, but that's all you have. It could be a coincidence, maybe a desperate copycat after attention."

Hermione shook her head. "I have a feeling in my gut, Harry. You know I can't ignore it when those happen."

Harry betrayed a look of concern. He knew from experience how those gut feelings could consume her to an unhealthy degree. "Just be careful, okay? If it's a serial killer we're dealing with, you need to keep your distance. Don't get caught up. Don't let it get personal."

"But it feels personal. I don't know why, but I feel like I need to figure this out. I won't rest, Harry. Not while some madman is on the loose murdering innocent women. I can't rest."

Nor did she in the week that followed. The potential case was all she could think of. During the day, she would sit at her neat little office desk in the Department of Internal Defense and scour those files, searching for something to indicate a motive, to indicate a potential suspect, grasping for connections. At night the work would continue, only instead of studying the murder files, she was slaving over plans for an upcoming gala at the Ministry that she was organizing.

After Hogwarts, Hermione had graduated from her efforts with S.P.E.W. and adopted human rights activism as a side project to her actual job as a Ministry agent. Her current project was W.I.G.O., or 'Women in Government Office'. It had come to her attention when she was twenty-two, that very few women were in positions of authority within the Ministry. Yes, there were powerful and intelligent women within the Ministry – she was one such woman – but very few had charge of their own departments. They took orders. They didn't issue them. Not to mention that, for as long as anyone could remember, the Minister of Magic had always been a man.

Hermione had decided to step up her feminist efforts. The first step was planning a gala to celebrate what proceeds were raised during her campaign to fund a scholarship for witches pursuing politics in higher education. She was very proud of her work, but it was difficult to manage it along with investigating the two murders. The gala was to be held in three weeks and she wasn't nearly done with the preparations. On top of that, a potential serial killer was on the loose in London and if she didn't get him locked up in Azkaban, more innocent women could possibly die. How's that for pressing?

Harry and Ginny had insisted that she was stretching herself too thin, but she couldn't turn her back on either project. She was invested and she would see them both done, even if it killed her in the end.

.cppw.

On Monday morning Hermione trudged into work with terribly dark bags hanging beneath her eyes. She had holed herself up in her apartment all weekend, refusing to answer phone calls or owl mail as she immersed herself into her investigation and gala preparations. She had four hours of sleep under her belt and a headache more dreadful than any she could ever recall having. She was exhausted, to be sure, but she would not be deterred.

Had she had the foresight to see just how terribly the day would pan out, she probably wouldn't have come to work at all. But, as it were, she did not, and so she made her way to Kingsley's office for their scheduled meeting.

She stopped briefly on her way in the lady's room, cast a quick glamour to conceal her drowsy eyes, and set off. Back straight, head high, she let herself into the elegantly furnished office. This meeting was her chance to convince Kingsley of her suspicion, to receive his blessing to take the investigation further and treat it as a serial killing.

"Good morning, Minister," she said lightly.

Kinglsey finished signing off on an official-looking document and looked up with a warm, welcoming smile. He gestured to the seat across from him. "Good morning, Hermione. Please, sit down."

Hermione made herself comfortable, running her hands anxiously along the smooth leather armrests to calm her mounting nerves.

"How are the plans for the gala going? I hope everything is well underway. I again must applaud you for your efforts, Hermione. I think you're bringing awareness to a very worthy cause," he said kindly.

Hermione smiled appreciatively, but it was a weighted smile. "I _wish_ it was bringing awareness to the issue, but I can't seem to get the press interested enough in my efforts to publicize them. They're too busy covering the Dream Team's return." She couldn't quite conceal the bitterness present in her tone.

Kingsley raised a curious brow. "Ah, yes. Their arrival is scheduled for today."

"I had forgotten, but the mass of reporters in the main lobby this morning was a blatant reminder," Hermione said coolly.

"They've done a great thing for our community by removing the last of the free-roaming Death Eaters," Kingsley said thoughtfully.

"Yes. They've been just heroic." Hermione only just concealed her irritation. The last thing she wanted to talk about now was the Dream Team, especially since it was their upcoming arrival and their great success that was taking the press' attention away from her awareness campaign.

"I wanted to talk about those two murders," she continued.

"Yes, I recall. They were both witches, were they not?"

Hermione nodded, sitting up straighter in her seat. "I have a suspicion, Minister," and here she swallowed back her nerves, "that they are related." She watched the large man carefully, surveying his expression.

Kingsley's mouth curved into a deep frown. "Related? Are you suggesting that they were connected through genealogical relations or that the circumstances surrounding their murders are related?"

Hermione shifted under his sceptical gaze, but came straight out with it. "I believe we have a serial killer on our hands." Kingsley seemed to bristle, lips parting to speak, but she quickly cut him off. "Both were brunettes, about five feet, four inches, in their mid to late twenties. Their reports read nearly the same: tortured by dark magic, signs of physical brutality and rape, and ultimately strangled to death."

"That is a grave speculation, Miss Granger."

Hermione did not blink, driven to prove her point. "I know. But it's too similar for it to be a coincidence. I can't ignore the parallels."

Kingsley abruptly pushed himself out of his seat, eyes narrowed as they gazed down upon her. Hermione refused to be intimidated. "Do you have anything else on which to validate this suspicion? A potential suspect? A motive, perhaps?"

Hermione pursed her lips defensively and shook her head. "No. But I have a feeling…"

Kingsley raised one brow. "A feeling? And I am supposed to trust this 'feeling'? You may continue your investigation into these murders, Miss Granger, but I will not let you treat them as a serial killing. Not without some solid proof."

Hermione rose now as well, fury radiating off of her. "The public should be told about this, Minister. They need to know that there's a dangerous killer on the loose targeting young women. They have a right to know! I'm onto this killer, Minister. I want him to know we're on to him. I want him to sweat a little, to look over his shoulder with every breath and doubt himself. I need him to make a mistake under the pressure."

Kingsley's expression was darkening rapidly and Hermione belatedly realized that she had crossed a line.

"That's enough, Miss Granger. That this murderer is a serial killer is still speculation. I will not have the press publishing your suspicions. I will not raise panic where panic is unnecessary."

"But –"

"Until you are absolutely positive that we are dealing with a serial killer, your speculations will remain with you, am I understood?" He fixed her with an authoritative look. He was challenging her to defy him.

As much as it hurt her pride, Hermione wasn't stupid enough to challenge him and risk the chance of losing the right to work the case. Those women needed her more than she needed to come out on top of this argument with her superior.

"I understand."

"Good. Now, as I said, you may continue with your investigation, but under no circumstance are we to assume that this is a serial killing. The best I can do for you is double the presence of aurors on night patrols."

"It will have to do, then," Hermione ceded, hands clenched into fists of aggravation at her side. "Thank you for your time, Minister."

With that she stormed out of Kingsley's office, determined to find something concrete with which to connect the murders to each other, something to convince the Minister of the workings of a serial killer.

.cppw.

Hermione decided to leave the office early that night. Her headache had mounted to a blaring migraine and she could hardly keep her eyes open. She wasn't helping those women if she got herself hospitalized for severe sleep deprivation. Packing up her files into her tote, she hopped into the lift and took it down to the lobby.

When the shiny silver doors opened onto the main floor, she was momentarily shocked by the mass of people – members of the press, members of the ministry, and some members of the public – who were crowded on top of each other. She had forgotten about the Dream Team. The expansive space was abuzz with excited chatter as those present prepared to usher in a veritable hero, a wizard who, despite having lived through a troubling and prejudiced youth, had vanquished over adversity and made himself into a new man: an admirable citizen and a heroic servant of the law. At least that was what the reporters were singing as they praised him and his merits.

Hermione Granger was less convinced of this journalistic prattle. In her sensible mind, Draco Malfoy would always be an arrogant prat with a cruel, forked-tongue. He was no hero in her eyes. There were no heroes in her world, only survivors and martyrs.

Two years ago, the Ministry of Magic had dispatched a specialized auror task force to travel through Europe in search of remaining Death Eater threats. Draco Malfoy had been assigned to lead said task force. He had successfully steered his team of eleven aurors, specializing in combat duel and tactical strategy, throughout the European countryside to scope out lingering threats. Thirteen isolated groups had been found and seized. It was ironic, but Draco Malfoy, son of a notorious Death Eater, had removed the last of the free-roaming Death Eaters. Voldemort and his followers were all but a myth now, albeit one that was very real to those who had been involved in the great wizarding war, those who wore the memories as scars still to this day.

Hermione wandered through the crowd, rolling her eyes as a pair of women shoved past her in an attempt to get to the front of the crowd. They were giggling foolishly and swooning over Malfoy's heroism. All of the needless pomp grated on her herve. It was excessive and obnoxious. Women were in danger of falling victim to a sadistic killer and the press would never be allowed to breathe a word of it – to warn women to stay safe. On top of that, she was trying to improve women's chances in government through her charity gala and campaign, and despite have given numerous detailed interviews to the press, she still had yet to see a single article addressing the cause published. The press had done little to create awareness for her cause. It was infuriating. There was worthier news in need of exposure, news worthier than Draco Malfoy's heroism.

She was deep in her troubled thoughts when an uproarious cheer rose throughout the vast chamber. The sound echoed off the walls, reverberated through her already aching skull. Despite her dislike of the entire ordeal, she found herself curiously lifting herself up onto her toes to watch the ensuing progression.

She recognized all of the faces of the aurors as people who she had encountered and trained with during her time at the ministry. As the team of twelve strode into the atrium she couldn't help but notice that they all looked a little thinner, a little unkempt, but happy and safe nonetheless. She chided herself on being so antagonistic about them – they had done a brave thing. They didn't deserve to be belittled. It wasn't their fault that the press was atrociously inept at choosing what to publicize for the public's entertainment and information.

When the cries mounted to a new high, she knew he had entered the hall, and she hoped, with a small fire of resentment in her chest, that two years of nomadic living looked ill on him. Her dark eyes scanned the crowd, peering towards the entrance. She spotted him almost instantly.

He was still the tall, lean man she had seen two years ago, but his blond hair was no longer carefully smoothed back over his scalp. The long, wispy strands fell lightly over his forehead. His steel-grey eyes were just as disconcertingly bright, but the creases in his face made him look older and tired. He wasn't gloating at the praise and attention as she had thought he would be. Instead, his infamous scowl was carefully in place and his perceptive eyes scanned the crowd with calculated disdain.

As the horde pressed forward, undoubtedly to be regaled by the team's tales of grand adventure, Hermione dodged through the crowd, desperate to make her escape. She was at a fireplace with a handful of floo powder in hand when someone grabbed her wrist. Suppressing annoyance, she turned to face Harry. Her countenance lightened immediately.

"You're ditching early," he observed, peering through his glasses at her, green eyes bright and discerning.

Hermione leaned back to look up at her friend. She shrugged. "I had a shit day."

"Does that have anything to do with the return of the ever-charming Malfoy?"

"Partially." She slumped against the cool stone wall. "I brought my suspicions to Kingsley. He shut them down. Not enough proof to convince him."

Harry was silent for a moment, then pulled her into a hug. It was a strong, comforting embrace. But it hit the spot. He always knew what she needed. He knew when words weren't sufficient and he knew when she just needed to feel supported and loved. Her shoulders shook with each shaky breath as she battled down the tears of frustration.

"Sh. It'll be okay, Hermione." He stroked her back for some time, soothing her until her emotional overload subsided.

She pulled away. "Sorry."

Harry waved off her apology. "Why don't you come over to dinner? Gin's making Bolognese. She'd be real chuffed to see you. So would the kids. They've been after me to charm canaries out of thin air like you, but I'm crap at it. "

Hermione gave him a weary smile. "I'd love to but I'm dead tired, Harry. I'm just going to head home and sleep. But say hello to Gin and the kids for me. Tell them I'll come by soon."

"If you're sure, then," Harry relented, green eyes betraying concern.

Hermione nodded. "Positive. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that she gave the address to her apartment and disappeared into a puff of green smoke.


	2. Headlong

CHAPTER TWO:

Headlong

Hermione groaned into her hands, running her fingers through her now disheveled brown curls. This gala benefit was driving her up the wall. It wasn't that she was regretting her decision to choose a new project – on the contrary, she was incredibly passionate about encouraging and fostering women in government. No. The issue was that colour schemes, floral arrangements and place settings were not amongst her diverse skill set. She was a woman of intellect and passion for pursuing justice. She was not a party planner. She had no patience for it.

She stared blankly at the menu before her. Some thirty appetizers, mains and desserts gazed back at her. She had been tasked by the caterer to select each of the courses. How was she to know whether the invitees preferred duck confit or filet mignon? She didn't want to be held accountable for an unwisely selected meal.

She shoved the menu aside impatiently. It would have to wait. At the moment, she was severely lacking in motivation. On top of deciding how to go about conducting her potential 'serial killer' murder investigation, she was also a wreck with the campaign. She had raised one-hundred and eighty thousand galleons for the scholarship fund out of a four-hundred thousand galleon goal. The future of funding a scholarship with longevity was looking grimmer and grimmer. The money she had raised would likely last her several years – a decade or so at most, she had calculated. But she had wanted something more substantial – a scholarship fund for witches pursuing politics that would continue to support women for another four decades, or however long it took to achieve the equality she was striving for.

The gala was less than three weeks away. It was highly improbable (if not completely impossible) to raise that kind of money in time. If there was one thing Hermione could not tolerate, it was failure. She had been over-ambitious with this pursuit. She had set her own bar way too high and she was going to royally flop.

"Stupid. Stupid," she muttered, lightly smacking her forehead with the heels of her palms. She checked the time on the clock sitting atop her desk. Nearly two. This was turning out to be the longest day.

She directed her attention back to the case file. Her eyes scanned the profiles of the women twice more. Pretty young women around her own age. Full of potential. Full of life. And now… She shook her head. The injustice of their senseless deaths irked her to no end. She and Harry had gone around the previous week interviewing the latest victim's family and closest friends. They hadn't turned up much. No evident enemies. No psychotic ex-boyfriends. Just a happy woman whose life was cruelly cut short.

Just then the door to her office burst open. Harry appeared, flushed and upset. He was breathing heavily, as though he had run the entire way to her office. Hermione was out of her seat a second later, crossing the room towards him.

"What is it? What's happened, Harry?"

"There's been another murder." Hermione's eyes widened. "You're going to want in on this one."

They arrived in the main lobby of the Ministry, and Hermione's heart was beating loudly and erratically in her chest, banging against her ribcage. Not another one. Resentment swelled in her heart. Resentment and anger. She had failed another woman. But it would be the last time. She would try harder. She had to. She wouldn't rest until this murderer was behind bars. She should never have waited for Kingsley's approval, she should have upped her game. Maybe if she had, this murder would have never happened.

Hermione allowed Harry to lead her to the floo stations in the lobby. She absently noted that members of the press still milled about, hoping for an interview with one of the Dream Team's members. She didn't think about them, though. Her mind had a single focus: to find a serial killer and put the bastard in a barren cell deep in the cold, dank bowels of Azkaban Prison for the rest of his miserable sodding life.

When the pair arrived at the scene, the glamour had already been cast over the site. Hermione approached the victim with slow, prudent steps. She took notes of the gruesome scene: a brunette, pale, average height; bruises and cuts visible on body; severe bruising around her throat indicating strangulation. A blanket had been laid across her naked body for the sake of decency. Another rape as well, it seemed.

Hermione looked away, rubbing her eyes wearily. It was déja vue. She had seen this all before. She refused to witness it again. If Kingsley needed more proof to indicate that they had a serial killer on the loose, then he was madder than a hatter. Hermione wouldn't stand for it.

Harry had come up beside her at some point. His strong grip on her shoulder anchored her back to earth.

"How are you holding up?" he asked quietly, with concern.

Hermione licked her lips. "Not well. I'm pissed, Harry. Beyond pissed. It's my fault."

Harry turned her around to face him. "Stop that. It's not your fault."

"It's my case. It's my responsibility."

"You haven't stopped working on this case. It's been consuming you for weeks. You've hardly slept."

"None of that matters. None of it. I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't clever enough this time. I let her down." Hermione's voice cracked with emotion. She coughed quickly to cover it up.

Turning away from Harry, she scanned the children's park that they were currently standing in. There was a series of tennis courts beside them. Her body stiffened all of a sudden as a powerful memory struck her full force, surging to the forefront of her muddled brain.

There she was, as a little girl, some seven or eight years old, racing across the tennis court, eagerly swatting bright yellow balls back over the net to her attentive father. Another image flashed behind her eyes, one of her with a children's team, playing tennis against other youngsters her age as they improved their tennis-playing techniques.

Her face paled. Her body went cold all of a sudden.

"What is it? Are you okay?"

Hermione hardly registered Harry's voice.

"I've been here before."

"What?"

Hermione's eyes scanned the tennis courts, now faded from years of use. But it was the same, all right. She unconsciously began to step across the grass towards the courts, her body carrying her as if of its own volition. Something fluttered in the corner of her eye. There. A yellow ribbon tied to the barbed fence separating the tennis courts from the park. As if being reeled in by some invisible force, Hermione glided towards it, Harry close by her side.

"I used to come here as a little girl…" She reached for the ribbon, gently tugging it loose. It fell into her palms. Another flash of memory struck her, this time of her mother tying her hair up with a pretty yellow ribbon on her first day of primary school. The same ribbon that she now held in her hand, though slightly faded with age.

She began to quake inside, overcome all at once by fear, confusion, helplessness. Her gaze went unseeing as she recalled the last place she had seen the ribbon – in a box of souvenirs and sentimental items from her childhood that she had stored away in her parents' attic. Her blood ran cold.

"Hermione. Talk to me. What's going on?"

Harry's authoritative voice woke her from her increasingly terrifying thoughts.

She slowly wheeled around to face him, face pale and drawn. "This is mine. I used to wear it in my hair when I was little. It was my favourite ribbon."

Harry frowned, upset by this. "And what about this park? You said that you've been here?"

Hermione nodded. "The tennis courts. I was part of a children's team from the age of seven to ten. My parents would take me here every Saturday for practices and tournaments. We used to live in the neighbourhood." She paused, gazing down at the yellow ribbon. A particularly strong breeze caught it, sending it aflutter in her palm. She quickly closed her fingers over it, keeping it from flying away. A small section was still sticking out and flickering in the wind. It was then that she glimpsed something dark on the opposite side. Wary, she turned the ribbon over in her palm. Harry pressed in behind her, peering over her shoulder.

Words. There were words scrawled neatly across it in permanent marker.

_Do you understand the game yet?_ Hermione's blood went ice cold.

"Do you understand the game yet?" Harry repeated. He frowned. "What does it mean?"

Hermione's trembling hand clenched into a fist around the ribbon. "It means that whoever we're dealing with knows that I'm on the case. They're trying to scare me."

Harry's face lined with worry. "That's sick."

Hermione nodded. The world seemed to blur around her as her nerves and anxiety mounted to a new high. She had to move. There was too much to do. "I need to speak with Kingsley, and then I need to check up on my folks."

Harry looked ill at ease. "Do you want me to come with you? You're not looking so well…"

"No. No. I'm fine. Just check up on my parents and tell them I'll come around later. I have to go, Harry." With that, she apparated straight to the Ministry. She bolted to the lifts, running by the press who gave the frantic woman funny looks. She reached Kingsley's office demanding entrance, but the receptionist told her the Minister didn't have any appointments scheduled. Hermione threatened to hex her something terrible and the mousy woman protested no further.

Kingsley appeared surprised at Hermione's unexpected call – more like abrupt entrance. She ran him through the murder, leaving no detail out. "Are you convinced yet?" she demanded, leaning over his desk, hands firmly planted on the cool surface. She barely managed to keep her anger in line. Her body was vibrating with fury by now.

Kingsley was silent for a thoughtful moment. "Yes. I believe I am. You are right, Miss Granger. We'll have to treat this matter with sensitivity. It is not my intent to rouse fear amidst the public, but they should know that there are dangers that threaten their safety."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you."

"I'll have the Daily Prophet publish an official notice of this in tomorrow's paper. We govern the Wizarding World with transparency. People have a right to know of the perils that exist."

"I couldn't agree more," Hermione conceded. The anger had faded now, but in the absence of the heated emotion rose ice cold terror. Someone was trying to scare her and they had succeeded. Somehow they had gotten into her parents' home and stolen that ribbon. The knowledge that some hostile stranger had gotten into her mum and dad's home left her trembling with wrath and fear.

"There's something else…" Kingsley observed.

Hermione bit her lip and passed him the ribbon. She quickly explained the situation.

"Whoever left it there is trying to scare me. They're trying to get me off their case."

"This is a personal attack, Miss Granger. If you wish to step down…" he began.

"No!" she shouted, then took a deep, calming breath. "No. I can handle this guy. It's my case and I'll see it through."

"Very well, then." Kingsley rose with finality. "I will make the appropriate arrangements."

Head high, Hermione left the Minister's office not long after. When she had stridden out of sight of the mousy receptionist, she crumpled against the wall, clinging to it for support.

Her knees were shaking beneath her, hands clammy. Her breathing was roughly expelling from her mouth, uneven and painful. _Keep it together, girl_, she thought sternly. _Hold it together_. She had to get to her parents' house. She had to see them with her own eyes and ascertain their safety. If anything had happened to them she'd surely perish from guilt.

Hermione caught her breath, legs shaking unsteadily beneath her, and dashed to the lift. It was closing as she rounded the corner.

"Hold it, please!" she called, hurrying along.

A pale hand nimbly caught the doors, leaving just enough of a gap for her to slide neatly between them. "Thanks," she said, cursing the tremor in her voice.

"You're welcome."

Her head was so full of hectic thoughts and her body was being traitorously unsteady that she hardly bothered to glance at the man who had held the lift for her. So consumed was she by the fears rolling within her head and the anxiousness twisting her stomach, that she didn't consider how terribly familiar his low, velveteen drawl was.

"You should be more attentive to your surroundings, Granger. Survival 101."

Hermione's distracted gaze shot up then, some six feet up to be exact. Her brown eyes clashed with unyielding silver. Her body instinctively tensed.

"Malfoy."

His thin lips curled into a smirk. "It's lovely to see you too, Granger. You haven't changed one bit, I see. Charming as ever."

"Piss off."

"So the cat still has claws."

Hermione glowered at him. Seeing him up close, she realized that two years abroad had changed him. He looked more rugged than she remembered, less polished, less greasy. She had never really noticed his strong, lean upper body. He wasn't as gaunt as he used to be either. He was rougher-looking, les polished, with short blond scruff lining his jaw. He had let himself go – compared to Malfoy standards, that is. She thought, rather bitterly, that the new look rather became him.

She looked away from him. Her glowering was making her light-headed. She gripped the safety bar that ran along the lift's wall, struggling to keep her balance as the precarious box twisted and turned to and fro.

"Merlin, help me," she muttered under her breath as the small lift began to swirl before her eyes. She blinked rapidly, attempting to clear her swimming vision – to no avail.

"Come again, Granger? Mumbling doesn't become you."

She ignored him. It was easier than rising to the bait of his affronts. She desperately needed to get out of there. Her body was flushing on the outside with anxiety and unease, but her insides were ice cold, numbed with fear for her parents and the situation that she had unwittingly put them in. She knew that Harry would have contacted her if anything was awry at home, but she was still sick with worry.

The lift took a particularly nasty drop just then she state went over the edge. The world was out of focus and off balance around her. She floor seemed to rise up to meet her, the safety bar slipping out of her cold, limp fingers. Her face would have become intimately acquainted with the floor had not two assured hands gripped her biceps, catching her before she could fall. Consciousness evaded her for a brief second, then her head snapped back, eyelids fluttering and just as quickly she regained her senses about her.

Awareness rushed back to her in full force. Her vision cleared and she found herself a foot away from Draco Malfoy, his silver eyes narrowed locked on her face, his hands tightly gripping her arms. The careful mask of disdain that he always wore had slipped away to reveal an expression of doubt.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, rather coarsely. He really had no bedside manner, she thought.

Hermione ran her tongue along her lips. She tried to speak words, but her mouth was suddenly dry as ash. He shook her lightly. It was enough to knock the sense back into her. She shoved his hands away, stumbled, but righted herself. She met his pointed gaze with her fierce, albeit somewhat hazy, brown orbs.

"Nothing. Just… nothing," she bit out. They were almost at the lobby. Soon she'd be free of him.

"Nothing?" he chortled. "Well, you certainly play the part of the swooning damsel convincingly."

Hermione's pride flared at that. "I am not a swooning damsel."

Malfoy shrugged, nonchalant. "Could have fooled me, princess."

She was already feeling volatile, and now, to have to listen to his snide voice and rude comments snapped the last nerve of calm she had left.

"You're a real prick, Malfoy." She rounded on him, fury unchecked. "You waltz back into the Ministry like some fallen angel redeemed, and act as if you're now somehow entitled to belittle everyone else. Well you're not. That's not how life works. One noble deed doesn't redeem a years of cruelty, and being the celebrity of the hour certainly doesn't grant you the right to talk down to everyone else. So you can just take your unwarranted invectives and shove them up your tight arse!" she snapped acerbically.

Brown clashed with silver for a long moment. The lift hit the lobby, jerking them both. Hermione turned away, but Malfoy caught her wrist, spinning her back around to face him. Her heart sped up when she beheld the livid expression on his face. He parted his lips to retaliate, or so she assumed, but the doors opened and a moment later an onslaught of shouts echoed around them.

The press, spotting the newest celebrity hero, surged towards them like a rabid pack of dogs. Malfoy appeared momentarily caught off guard. Hermione seized the opportunity to tear her arm away from him. She bolted through the crowd of reporters, determined to finally get to her parents' home and as far away from Malfoy and the Ministry as possible.

.cppw.

"And you're certain that you didn't have any strangers over?" she demanded, insistent.

Hermione sat in the cozy cottage living room with her mother, Jane Granger, and father, Peter Granger. They were a well-suited couple. They complemented each other in the best possible way. Hermione envied how well their marriage had turned out. The world was full of unhappy couples divorcing and it was nice to know that her parents had stuck it out and made it work.

"No. Your dad's sister came over last week," Jane said, her brows furrowing as she wracked her memory.

Hermione had been relieved when her parents had answered the door, assuring her that Harry had indeed come to check up on them. She had had multiple worse case scenarios running around through her head until the moment they had opened their front door to her. But those thoughts had quickly been replaced with the task at hand.

"Actually," her dad started, "we did have that plumbing issue. You remember, Jane?"

Jane's eyes widened. "Oh! Why, yes. Yes, of course." She turned back to Hermione. "The sinks in the master bathroom were clogged something terrible. When was that, darling?"

Peter paused to think. "Two weeks ago, I think."

Her parents both turned to look at her again, inquiring.

Jane patted Hermione's knee comfortingly, easily able to detect her daughter's distress. "Does that answer your question, dear?"

Hermione nodded. "Can you tell me what he looked like?"

Peter shrugged. "Couldn't really say. We left him to his own devices. An average looking fellow, I guess. I'm sorry, sweetheart, that we can't be of more help to you."

Hermione shook her head. "That's all right. Do you mind if I take a quick look around?"

Jane gestured her away. "Go ahead. I'll whip us up some dinner. Why don't you spend the night? You don't seem yourself and I'd hate for you to be on your own."

After much insistence on her parents' behalf, Hermione conceded. She apparated to her flat, filled up a grumpy Crookshanks' dish of food, and swiftly returned. She made her way upstairs, pulling down the attic stairs. She mounted them, stepping into the dusty attic. It didn't take long for her to find the small cardboard box containing her sentimental souvenirs. Her name was written neatly across it in black permanent marker.

She skimmed through its contents with deft fingers. Everything appeared to be in place – baby shoes, her favourite nursery rhyme book, a good-luck rock from her childhood, some report cards, tests, papers, family photos, a few drawings – nothing seemed amiss. The only thing missing was the yellow ribbon.

The thought that some sadistic serial killer had been in her parents' home and touched her things left her queasy. She shut the box and busied herself with reinforcing the wards around the house. She took an hour to do so, making them as professional and secure as possible.

She was quiet throughout dinner, too exhausted to really make conversation. By eight o'clock she had excused herself and promptly collapsed on her childhood bed, surrounded by pale lilac walls and a wispy canopy overhead. She felt like a child again—safe and secure. In a matter of minutes she had fallen into a deep, uninterrupted sleep; the best sleep she'd had in a month.

* * *

><p><strong>I know we've only glimpsed Draco in this chapter, but from here on out he'll be featuring more prominently. I also intend to slowly up the intensity of the plot. In any case, thanks to those who've been reading so far, hope you enjoyed it :)<strong>

**Charley**


	3. I'm Going Slightly Mad

**Hello all. So from here on out the chapters will be substantially longer, about twice as long as the first two. This one is longer than the first two put together. I personally enjoy long chapters, but if you prefer shorter ones, let me know and I can find a happy medium.**

**I haven't really heard much feedback from anyone except the lovely Malibu Baybreeze (thank you for your encouragement!) and I'd really love to know how the rest of you are finding the story, so if you're so inclined to, please leave a review!**

**For those of you waiting to see more of the tempestuous yet charming Draco Malfoy, well, I hope you'll be pleased with what follows. Enjoy :)**

CHAPTER THREE:

_I'm Going Slightly Mad_

Hermione trudged into the office the next morning with a heavy heart and mind. It was nippy outside, the cool October air reminded her that they were in the midst of fall – her favourite season. There was nothing quite so refreshing as pulling on a pair of jeans with a cozy knit pullover and going for a long walk among the crisp, fallen leaves. It helped to clear her head. However, despite her sincere love of autumn, the grim business plaguing the Department of Internal Defense made it nigh impossible to feel anything other than despondent and disheartened.

When she transitioned from blustery, earthy fresh air to stale Ministry office air, she inwardly groaned. Mercifully, it was Friday. She couldn't imagine having to go into the office one more day. It had been a difficult week – a difficult three weeks, to be honest. Today would be just as challenging as any other.

She had scheduled an official interview with the Amelia Huffington's, the victim's, parents that afternoon at the Department. She was eager to hear what they had to say about their daughter, to see if anything they could tell her might help in her investigation. She had briefly spoken with Amelia Huffington's parents the day of the murder. Not wanting to further upset the freshly grieving couple, she had rescheduled the meeting for today.

She passed by Pansy Parkinson on her way to her office. Pansy was the Department's receptionist. She took calls and appointments for the aurors and officials who worked with Hermione. Pansy had surprisingly turned out to be quite a kind, sympathetic woman. Hermione would never have thought it possible that they would bond to any great extent, and yet they had. In fact, aside from Ginny and Luna, Pansy was the only other female friend she had.

"Morning Pansy," Hermione called, voice strained, betraying her fatigue.

Pansy looked up, short black bob bobbing against her angular jawline. Her sharp eyes softened at the sight of Hermione. She swept out of her chair and strode towards her, pulling Hermione into a fierce embrace. Hermione felt her shoulders slacken. She gripped the back of the Slytherin's blouse.

"There, there. You're going to be fine." The woman gently patted Hermione's back, then drew her away to look into her brown eyes. "I heard about the murder. That's the third one."

Hermione nodded. "Yeah."

"Bastard." Pansy shook her head, eyes flaring in anger. "I can't wait for him to rot away in Azkaban."

"My thoughts exactly," Hermione admitted.

"Look," Pansy sighed, hands firmly on her hips, "I know that you're probably blaming yourself right now, but it's not your fault. Got it?"

Hermione nodded half-heartedly.

"Hey," Pansy snapped, "I'll have none of that self-pitying bullshit from you. Tomorrow night you're coming out with me. We're going to a bar and getting drunk," she stated.

Hermione sighed. There was no point arguing with Pansy when she got an idea in her head. She was as immoveable as an Easter Island head. "Fine. But I'm not getting drunk. Losing all sense of self-composure and reason once was enough to last me a lifetime."

Pansy laughed, shaking her head. "Sure, babe." With that she winked and skirted back around her desk. "See you later."

Hermione gave a small wave and meandered to her office. She spent the next two hours examining her elaborate notes and photo documentation on the recent murder of Amelia Huffington. She had only been twenty-five years old, a year younger than herself. It was devastating and infuriating. Eventually it was just too much. She had prepared questions for Amelia's parents to pose later that afternoon, but she couldn't handle staring at the photos of her brutalized body any longer.

She shoved the folder away and got up sharply from her desk. Back in the reception area, Pansy was chatting with the tall, dark-featured and undeniably dashing Blaise Zabini. Zabini had surprised everyone when he'd decided to join the auror training program after Hogwarts. He'd been neutral during the war and his career choice had been completely unexpected. He was a talented wizard and had been chosen to join the recently returned task force hunting Death Eater fugitives. This was the first time she'd seen him in two years. He too, like Malfoy, was a little more rugged looking than she remembered.

When Pansy spotted her, she enthusiastically waved her over to them. Hermione smiled tiredly and joined them. Blaise gave her a winning smile, the kind of charming, white-toothed grin that left hordes of women swooning in his wake.

"Granger. It's been a while," he said warmly, extending his hand.

Hermione took it, gave it a firm shake. "It's good to have you back, Blaise. You've done some fantastic work. I really have to commend you."

Blaise chuckled. "How much did it wound your pride to say that?"

Hermione smirked. She and Blaise had formed a simple friendship, mediated by the ever outgoing Pansy who had insisted that Hermione would appreciate Blaise's wit and cleverness. She was right, of course. Blaise was surprisingly easy-going, a pleasant chap, unlike his miserable, platinum-haired best mate.

She quickly excused herself from them, pleading a need to speak with Harry. She found him down the hall in the large training facility dedicated to the aurors. He was supervising two trainees in combat who were swiftly casting spells and dodging offensive attacks. Harry was a superb teacher. His trainees always easily rose to the top of their class under his guidance.

She paused at the edge of the training ring to watch, impressed by the young aurors. Harry noticed her a moment later and told them to take five. He hopped over the ring's bar and came over to her.

"Sorry to interrupt you."

Harry shrugged. "No big deal. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing, really. I'm speaking to Amelia's parents this afternoon." Her voice shook a little with emotion.

Harry paused for a moment. "Amelia...the third victim."

Hermione nodded tightly. "Are you free around four o'clock today? I would really appreciate a little support."

He looked instantly apologetic. "I'm running a mock mission with the newbies all afternoon. I probably won't be back until five or so."

"Oh." Hermione tried to hide her disappointment. "That's fine."

Harry gently placed his hands on her shoulders and she looked up into his bright green eyes. "You'll be great, Hermione. I've known you nearly my entire life and if anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's you. I'll send someone over to check up on you later just to be sure, though. I'm here for you, yeah?"

Hermione gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Harry." He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder. "You should get back to your baby aurors," she said teasingly.

He winked and jogged back to the ring, launching himself agilely over the bar. She turned away and headed for the reinforced metal door. It was a safety precaution to contain any wayward spells.

She reached for the doorknob just as it flew open before her. She barely managed to dodge breaking her nose. Being already in a flighty mood, her temper quickly flared.

"Watch where you're going," she snapped, looking up at the individual who had almost broken her face. She inwardly groaned to see Malfoy gazing down at her, lips set in a thin line.

"Why don't you?" he bit back. He was wearing training gear – black track pants and a tight-fitted black t-shirt stretched tightly over his chest. The dark colour made his pale skin looker whiter than usual.

Hermione bristled beneath his condescending gaze. She wanted to smack him so badly. There were so many reasons she resented him. For one, that he was the latest celebrity in Wizarding England and as a result was drawing all the press' attention to him and away from her case and her benefit. But maybe she was being harsh… Yes, she was definitely being harsh. She knew she was. He hadn't asked for the attention. She grumbled inwardly. Well, even if he wasn't directly responsible for diminishing the coverage of the murder cases and the benefit, he was still a prat, an arrogant snob of a smug prat.

"Why do you have to be such a jerk all the time?" she demanded, placing her hands on her hips and glaring defiantly up at him.

One perfectly shaped white brow lifted. "I haven't spoken a word to you in over two years. So I fail to see how that statement applies. Furthermore, I wasn't the one who pulled a magnificent fit yesterday. That, Granger, was all you." His grey eyes flashed, holding her in place with their sheer force.

Hermione swallowed harshly. "You insulted me!"

Malfoy shook his head, disbelieving. "I made a joke at your expense. Sue me. I hardly think that merited your reaction."

Hermione's fingers itched to strangle something. To listen to Malfoy lecture _her_ on her poor behaviour was not on her priority list. The fact that he was completely right – that she had overreacted – just fueled the fire of her wounded pride.

"I'm sorry," she grit out after a long, painful pause.

Malfoy's eyes widened momentarily, then his blasé expression fell back over his austere features. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me, Malfoy. I won't say it again. I was out of line yesterday. I admit that you caught me at a moment when I was not at my best." She could not believe her ears. Why was she telling him this? Why was she even prolonging this strange, unorthodox conversation with Draco Malfoy? "I suppose I should congratulate you on your success. I'm sure you did the Wizarding world a great service," she finished flatly.

Malfoy seemed unsettled by her unexpected pleasantry. "You don't have to thank me. I took no pleasure in what I did these past two years. I only wish people would stop reminding me. There's no glory in the things I did to rid this world of Death Eaters."

Hermione nodded, taken aback by his honest words. She had never truly taken the time, or really made the effort, to get to know Malfoy. He was just another person in her department, someone that she had avoided at all costs. Seeing him always reminded her of the war, of the atrocities that they had borne witness to.

For some reason, she felt compelled to say something more, something to comfort him. Comfort him? She was not in her right mind today. This was _Malfoy, _her tormentor throughout Hogwarts. "I know exactly what you mean," she admitted. She caught his gaze with her own, holding it, and a silent understanding seemed to pass between them.

Hermione had despised all of the attention the press had given them following Voldemort's defeat. It was a painful, sorrowful memory and for several years there had been no escaping the ghosts of the war. They had haunted her.

She looked away after a drawn out moment, glancing down at her black flats. When she looked up those disconcertingly clear grey eyes were steadily watching her. Suddenly self-conscious, her cheeks warmed. "Well. Good bye," she mumbled, and scurried around him, straight back to the safety of her office.

**.cppw.**

Hermione flipped hastily through the Daily Prophet. She had snagged it off of Pansy's desk earlier. She was currently skimming through it for the third time, and for the life of her, she could not find the article Kingsley had promised her would discuss the serial killings. It was only on her fourth survey, when she had meticulously scanned every single title in the paper, that she found it – a small, two by two inch advert in the bottom corner of the breaking news section.

It read: _Ministry of Magic's Department of Internal Defense looks into potential serial killing. Three young women, all brunettes in their mid-twenties, have been found brutalized and strangled over the past three weeks. Minister Kingsley advises civilians to take extra precautions to be safe. _

And that was it; straight forward and to the point. But _so small_ that it had taken her _four attempts_ to locate it. Hermione's blood boiled. This matter of a serial killer on the streets was serious and yet again the press had diminished its importance in favour of writing _five_ separate articles all discussing different facets that characterized the wonder that was Malfoy and his Dream Team.

Something had to be done. It was one thing for the press to snub her benefit – which she reminded herself, was still severely underfunded – but to now overlook a serial killer who was threatening the lives of innocent women… well, she just would not stand for it.

Five minutes later she was barging past Kingsley's mousy secretary and straight into his office. She threw the paper down onto his desk, her index planted firmly above the inadequate write-up.

"This is what they gave us. It's ridiculous. Preposterous! I don't care about Draco Malfoy's single life. I don't care about his selfless heroism. I don't care that he took on five Death Eaters without back-up and somehow managed to placate them. And I certainly don't care that his family has three other homes in the Italian wine country, on the coast of Barbados, and in the Swiss Alps, respectively. Women are dying!" she exclaimed breathlessly, face flushed.

Kingsley listened to her patiently all the while she fumed. "I understand your frustration, Miss Granger, but the press is not ruled by state sanctions. It's a democratic institution that publishes what it feels the people want to know."

"And what about what the people _need_ to know?" she demanded. "Democracy my ass. The press breeds exclusion and misinformation." She gestured again to the article for emphasis.

Kingsley sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. "It is not within my power to dictate how they govern their paper. I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but there is little I can do."

Hermione shook her head. She wouldn't be defeated so easily. "Surely there must be something we can do!" she insisted. "There must be some way to outsmart the press."

Kingsley leaned back in his tall wingback chair, scratching his chin thoughtfully. A glimmer in his eye alighted new hope within Hermione.

"There might be something…"

**.cppw.**

Hermione's leg bounced anxiously as she awaited the arrival of Amelia Huffington's mother and father. They would be the third pair of devastated parents that she'd interview and it only got harder each time. Every time she faced these women's parents she was reminded of her own mother and father and imagined just how shattered they'd be if anything happened to her, their only daughter.

She shook the thought from her mind, reflecting back on her impromptu meeting with Kingsley. He had a plan. That much she knew. However, he had refused to offer any insight into what that plan might be. His secrecy was something that excited her but simultaneously gave her a feeling of dread. Kingsley was a clever man. He had a way of tricking the system. Hermione herself had wracked her brain to think of some way to get the press to take these murders seriously but had come out empty. The fact that Kingsley had a plan meant he was going to do something that Hermione likely would not enjoy partaking in. She supposed that she'd have to deal with whatever he offered her. She wouldn't back down on her chance to be taken seriously by the press.

A sharp knock on her door broke her from her reflections. Pansy poked her head in. She looked a little grim. "Mr. and Mrs. Huffington just arrived. They look worse for wear, Hermione. They're on the precipice of falling apart, be warned," she advised.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Thanks for the heads up, Pansy. You can send them in."

A few seconds later a couple in their late fifties entered the office. Hermione stood, extending her hand. "Hello Mr. and Mrs. Huffington. Thank you for coming in to speak with me," she said sympathetically, shaking each of their hands.

She gestured to the comfy chairs facing her desk. "Please, sit down." She offered them tea. Mrs. Huffington agreed to some, but Mr. Huffington merely scowled darkly. Hermione took note of this. He would not make this easy on her.

"I am profoundly sorry for what happened to your daughter. But I promise to find justice for her. I'll need to ask you some questions, however, that might help me through this investigation."

"Of course," Mrs. Huffington said softly, dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes. "Anything we can do to help put that monster behind bars."

Hermione smiled softly. "Firstly, can you tell me what Amelia was doing out on Wednesday night? Specifically near the tennis courts."

Mrs. Huffington nodded. "Yes. She was working the late shift at a coffee shop in the neighbourhood. She always crosses through the park on her way home." The woman's eyes turned hazy and distant. "She was trying to raise money for her first flat. She was going to move out on her own…" the older, greying woman broke off, choking off the sob that threatened to escape her.

"Why did she want to move out? Was she unhappy?"

Mr. Huffington sat up angrily. "Unhappy? What are you trying to imply? That we killed her?" he demanded. The air vibrated in the room as his fury expelled into raw magic.

Hermione raised her hands in a gesture to stay calm. "I wasn't implying anything, Mr. Huffington. I wanted to know if she was unhappy, if someone in her life was pressuring her, threatening her, or otherwise."

Mr. Huffington pressed his lips together. He sat back in his seat, maintaining his silence.

Mrs. Huffington answered then. "Amelia was a sweet, loving girl. She wanted some independence, you know? She didn't want to be a burden on us, but I told her she could never be a burden. Your child is never a burden, Miss Granger. She could very well have lived with us for the rest of her life if she had wanted to."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "My mom said the exact same thing when I moved out a few years ago." She quickly skimmed some of her questions and posed the basics.

"Did Amelia have enemies? Any angry or jealous exes?"

"No. She hadn't ever really dated anyone. She was so busy she hardly had time for herself. She was a shy girl. I think she was hoping that moving out and gaining some independence would have given her the opportunity to try dating," Mrs. Huffington said, sniffling. "She might have been a mother one day…" The woman broke into violent sobs then, collapsing against her chair. She wept uncontrollably.

Hermione's heart wrenched in her chest. She quickly cast a silent summoning spell. Pansy swept into the office a moment later. Her eyes widened at the sight of the distraught woman.

"Pansy, would you take Mrs. Huffington to the ladies' room, then get her something to eat."

Pansy nodded, swiftly moving to the woman, taking her by the arm. "Come, come now, Mrs. Huffington. It'll be all right. Come along, let's get some fresh air. I think this all a little bit overwhelming."

Mrs. Huffington was apologizing through her sobs. Pansy reassured her, leading her from the room. When the door shut behind them, Hermione quickly jotted down a few notes. Hermione then turned to Mr. Huffington who had remained coldly unmoved by his wife's distress. Her brown eyes met furious blue ones. He was glaring at her with unbridled hate. Hermione shifted, unsettled. Everyone dealt with grief differently, but she was not the one responsible for his daughter's death.

"Mr. Huffington, if I may…"

He interrupted her before she could finish her statement. "I read about the serial killing."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "I was going to bring it up in due time."

"Some psychopathic killer murdered my daughter. What I want to know is why three women had to be murdered before the paper announced that a serial killer was on the loose." He rose, fury radiating off of him in waves. "Why did she have to die? If we had known…"

Hermione rose as well, defensive. "Mr. Huffington, I assure you that as the official in charge of this investigation, I did my very best to inform the public of a potential serial killer after the second murder. However, I do not have the final say in such matters. I feel responsible for these women, you understand? It infuriates me to no end that your daughter fell victim to this monster. I am doing everything within my power to bring him down."

Mr. Huffington's fists clenched at his sides. "Well it's not enough! You were too late for her! You let my daughter die! You failed her!" he yelled.

Raw magic flew abruptly through his fingertips then, striking Hermione in the chest and sending her flying into the bookcase behind her. She smacked her head against the shelf. Several books tumbled down on top of her. She blinked, trying to clear her hazy, dully aching head.

Mr. Huffington was coming around her desk with a vengeance, the waves of pure energy tearing her office apart. Files, papers, books – all of it and more were whipping around the room as if caught in a tornado.

Hermione gripped the book shelf behind her, pushing herself onto her feet. She held out a hand. "Calm down, Mr. Huffington." Raw magic was a volatile, organic thing, and at the moment it was perceiving her as the hostile object. She didn't dare lift a finger to her wand. It would be too much of a risk, especially with him standing not three feet away from her. "I'm not the enemy."

A strong force struck her in the stomach, winding her. She bent double.

"You let her down! Someone is going to have to answer for her murder. It may as well be you!" he roared.

Hermione looked up at him, biting back the sharp pain. She took a tentative step towards him. "I am trying to help you."

Electricity crackled through the air, his fingertips sparking dangerously. Hermione froze. That was never good. Her fingers itched towards her wand that was nestled in the pocket of her robe.

"You don't want to do that, Mr. Huffington," she warned. "There's no sense in getting people hurt."

He was beyond reason, now. He was a father who had lost his precious daughter and had been driven to a point beyond desperation. A flash of white hot energy flew at her. She threw herself out of the way, feeling the electric heat skim her body. The raw magic crashed into the wall, causing an explosion that sent large chunks of wall hurtling at her. Hefty amounts of debris struck her in the back sending her toppling to the ground, a barrage of glass shards raining down afterwards from a now shattered nearby lamp. Hermione winced beneath the heavy weight of the debris, an aching pain spreading across her lower back.

She was bracing herself for another onslaught when she heard the door slam open against the wall. From where she lay behind her desk, covered in debris, she could hear a small scuffle ensue. She couldn't see who had entered her office, but they had come in just in time to subdue Mr. Huffington before further damage could be inflicted.

After a few seconds, the room fell silent. Papers drifted to the ground, dust from the damaged wall wafted to the ground as well, settling over her. Hermione breathed a deep sigh of relief, coughing on the dust that she inadvertently inhaled into her lungs. She pushed herself up but a searing pain shot through her wrist. A sharp gasp of pain fled her lips and she clutched her hand to her chest. Her wrist was most assuredly broken. She groaned. How inconvenient.

A moment later, someone was clearing the debris off of her and helping her to her feet. She swayed for a moment, but clung to her saviour. She found herself staring at a muscled chest beneath a tight-fitted black t-shirt. Well damn.

Malfoy was looking down at her, brow furrowed in… concern? Perish the thought. She was imagining things. He was holding onto her bicep tightly and she realized that she was gripping his forearm. She felt his arm muscles flex beneath her grip and she gingerly released the limb, blushing darkly.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

His silver eyes quickly scanned her, as if assessing for any injury. "Your wrist is swelling."

She glanced at the mottling, swelling skin around her wrist. "Must have broken when I fell," she said, unworried. She wanted to end this awkward encounter as soon as possible. Shrugging nonchalantly, she raised her wand to cast a quick healing spell. He stopped her hand with his cool one.

"There's blood on your temple. Did you hit your head?" he asked perceptively.

Hermione was beyond confused by his questions. Why was he here anyways? "I might have." She paused, thinking. Her head still felt a little foggy. "Yeah. I think I did. On the bookshelf."

"Then you shouldn't be casting healing spells on yourself. Let me," he insisted.

Before Hermione could begin to protest, he had taken her injured hand lightly into his own, the dark tip of his elegant wand pressed to the skin. His gentleness shocked her into silence and she watched, utterly baffled, as he whispered a spell under his breath. A flash of warmth spread through her arm as the bones mended. She drew away quickly, rubbing the newly healed wrist, disconcerted.

They stood facing each other for a moment. He was staring at her again. It was unsettling. She cast a quick glance around the room to verify that Mr. Huffington was all right. He was unconscious and by the looks of it had been carelessly tossed into one of the chairs by her desk. She frowned. "I hope you didn't hurt him."

Malfoy looked at her with disbelief. "He could have seriously injured you."

Hermione turned to him, a little irked. "He's grieving for his daughter. I won't hold him at fault," she said tersely.

Malfoy shook his head as he stared down at her. "He'll be fine in a few minutes."

"Well, thanks again," she mumbled.

Draco shrugged elegantly, stepping back. Hermione instantly felt herself able to breathe better. "Potter told me to check in on you at some point this afternoon. Save your thanks for him."

He stated the fact as if it was nothing, as if he and Harry speaking at all was a common occurrence. Hermione gaped. "_Harry_ told you to? Since when do the two of you get along?" she demanded.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "It may surprise you to know this, but Potter has, beyond all natural expectation, matured. He's learned how to let go of a grudge. Unlike you, apparently. It may also interest you to know that while I was hunting Death Eaters for two years, Potter acted as our team's correspondent. He was the only Ministry official we communicated with in order to protect the team's location and strategy."

Hermione was dumbstruck. Why hadn't Harry told her about this? She suddenly felt excluded from her best friend's life. She and Harry shared absolutely _everything_. He was her pillar and confidante and vice versa. When her relationship with Ron had gone south, Harry had been the one to keep her on her feet. They had grown incredibly close. They didn't do secrets.

"Why wouldn't he tell me?" she asked quietly, forgetting for a moment that Malfoy was still standing a foot away from her.

"Perhaps because he knew you'd react childishly to his affiliation with me," Malfoy drawled, disinterested.

Hermione shot him a dark look. "You don't know what you're talking about. I wouldn't have behaved childishly."

He quirked a brow. "Really? Shall I yet again bring up the fit you pulled in the lift?"

Hermione reddened. "I already told you that I wasn't in top form yesterday! Merlin! Why can't you let that go?" she demanded, her voice rising in pitch.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. "Why can't you?"

"Why can't I what?" she snapped.

"Why can't you get over the fact that my parents were Death Eaters and the fact that I was a scared shitless, spoiled brat during the war years? I've spent years trying to atone for my wrongs," he stated, eyes flashing passionately. "You think you know me, but you really have no idea." He frowned deeply. "Why do you still hate me?"

His last left her a little breathless. She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't hate you, Malfoy. I resent parts of you. I resent the memories that resurface every time I look at you. The filthy word you used to call me; being tortured in your family's manor. I can't help but remember it all." Her voice broke off. She was tired and under a hell of a lot of pressure with both the murder investigation and the upcoming gala. She was a mess.

When she opened her eyes, he was still there, waiting. She hadn't realized that her eyes were brimming with tears. She quickly wiped them away. "This is stupid," she muttered. "Why am I even talking to you?" she asked herself.

She began to wave her wand about, tidying up the room. When she came full circle, he was _still_ there. She huffed, annoyed. "Look. I said thank you. So can you just go? I would really like to be left alone."

He didn't move for a moment and Hermione bristled at the thought that he'd just ignore her request. He nodded after a brief pause and let himself out of her office, his long, measured strides taking him mercifully far away. When the door shut behind him, she bent her head into her hands and wished to a higher power that things would for once go her way.

**.cppw.**

Hermione spent the better part of Saturday in her pyjamas, skimming through her investigation case files in between finalizing decoration schemes, menu plans, seating arrangements, and whatnot for the gala. A few more donations had come in pushing her just past the two-hundred thousand galleon mark. She had barely raised half of her ultimate goal.

When dinner time rolled around, a sharp knock at her apartment door roused her from her work. The living area was a disaster, with papers strewn across every surface and unwashed dishes scattered about. She scurried to the door, stepping through the maze of files and pulled open the door to reveal a decked out Pansy. Her black hair was shining and hung perfectly straight to her shoulders. Her lips were painted a deep red with smoky-eyed makeup accentuating her bright, cat-like eyes. She was in a black mini skirt, tights and heeled leather boots, with a flirty blouse to top the outfit off.

Hermione wracked her brain for a moment, then inwardly cursed – they were supposed to grab drinks at a bar tonight. "Damn it. Pansy, I totally forgot…"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You mean you weren't planning on rocking pyjamas with cute yellow bears on them at the bar? I think the look suits you," Pansy giggled, smiling affectionately.

Hermione glanced at her drawstring bottoms. "It's Winnie the Pooh," she clarified.

Pansy raised an elegant brow, as if affronted. "Pooh?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

Pansy gave her a funny look before ushering her off. "Now go wash your face. You still have sleepy crusts in the corners of your eyes. I'll scour that drab little closet of yours and whip up a tasteful outfit." With that, Pansy skittered off to Hermione's bedroom, and Hermione, recognizing a lost battle when she saw one, relented and dragged her feet straight to the washroom.

An hour later, Pansy was dragging Hermione into a popular wizard's bar in London. It was under a glamour, and as a result, only visible to witches and wizards. Pansy had chosen a black mini-dress for Hermione to wear, but Hermione had resisted vehemently. She just wanted to grab a beer, be cozy, and avoid attention, not worrying about tugging down her dress all evening. She had instead opted for brown ankle boot, dark denim jeans and a loose grey knit pullover. She had wrapped a scarf around her neck as the finishing touch before venturing out into the nippy autumn evening air.

They stepped into the bar, a hole-in-the-wall kind of establishment with lots of wood furnishings, dim lighting and a warm atmosphere. Hermione rubbed the cold from her arms, basking in the heat that slowly pervaded her icy skin. Pansy led them to a small booth in a cozy nook at the back of the bar. She was surprised to find Harry and Ginny waiting for them.

"Hey, Hermione!" Ginny chirped, leaping out her seat to embrace the curly-haired brunette.

"Hey…" Hermione replied, surprised, returning the enthusiastic hug. She glanced at Pansy over Ginny's shoulder and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Ginny pulled away and slipped back in beside Harry. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his chest. The redhead had the happiest of smiles on her face. "I didn't realize you would be here."

Harry and Ginny glanced at Pansy, suddenly uncertain. Hermione, suspicions confirmed, rounded on Pansy. "What are you up to?" she demanded, hands planted on her curved hips.

Pansy fluttered her eyelids innocently. "I just wanted to have a small group get together to celebrate," she said ambiguously.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Celebrate what, exactly?"

"Why, us, of course."

Hermione turned around sharply, caught off guard. Behind her towered two dashing Slytherins. Blaise Zabini, who had responded cockily to her inquiry, wore a confident smirk on his face. And Draco Malfoy, who looked less than thrilled to be there. Hermione could sympathize.

Pansy took Hermione's hand and gazed at her beseechingly. "My two best friends just got home safely from two years on a dangerous mission. Is it so wrong to want to give them a warm welcome back by bringing together a few of my other friends?"

Hermione couldn't fault her on her intentions, but Hermione was no friend of Malfoy's. She highly doubted he even wanted her there, infringing on his time with his Hogwarts companions. Which raised the question…

Hermione pursed her lips and turned her discerning chocolate eyes on Harry. She felt betrayed. When did he and Ginny become included as one of Malfoy and Blaise's 'friends'. She had been left out of the loop and she didn't appreciate it one bit.

"Ginny," Hermione bit out sharply. Everyone watched her carefully, detecting her displeasure as it rushed off of her in waves. Ginny looked up at her, wide-eyed. Harry, on his part, sank lower into the booth as if trying to entice it to swallow him whole. "May I please borrow your _darling_ husband for a moment?"

Ginny glanced at Harry who subtly shook his head. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sure. Go on, Harry." Ginny nudged him encouragingly.

Harry grumbled something under his breath as he lifted himself out of the booth. "Excuse us a moment, won't you?" he asked politely.

If they hadn't been being closely watched by three Slytherins all sharing secret smirks of amusement, she would have taken her best friend by the ear and dragged him straight out of that bar. Instead, she led him down the short hallway of which stood the washroom doors.

She rounded on him. "What is going on?" she gritted out. "It's like I'm in some disturbing alternate reality today. All of a sudden Malfoy comes back from a two year mission and it comes to my attention that you're all buddy-buddy with each other. I mean, when did that happen? Why was I not included in this? Is this something you all do? Go out for drinks at bars and hang out? Why was I never told about any of this?" she ranted, breathless and hurt.

Harry waited patiently for her to calm down. "Look, Hermione. It's not a big deal." She huffed impatiently at that. "No, listen," he insisted. "This all happened within the five months before Malfoy and Blaise left London for the past two years. He and I, we just started talking. At work, you know. I mean, we're both aurors, it was going to happen sometime or other. I just realized then, after getting to know his personality, that he wasn't such a bad guy. He had a seriously screwed up childhood, just like the rest of us, but I would argue that his was even more twisted. He's not a bad guy, Hermione."

Hermione's hands fisted at her sides. "I never said he was a bad guy. I admit I never really gave him much of a chance to change my less than favourable opinion of him, but I never said he was evil." She bit her lip, hating how she felt so disconnected at the moment. "Why didn't you tell me you had become friends with him? I would have understood. Hell, I would have tried to get along with him just for your sake."

Harry shook his head. "It wasn't the right time for you. Those were the months when you and Ron really struggled. It was around that time that you broke of your engagement, remember?"

Hermione frowned. She did in fact remember the bitter memory. Those had been some of the hardest months she had ever gone through. The man she had known for her entire life, who she had loved with all her heart, the man she had agreed to spend the rest of her life with, had not turned out to be the man for her. He was the comfortable choice, the safe choice. But he wasn't the right choice. Not for her. She shook her head as painful memories of arguments and shouting matches and thrown furniture and picture frames threatened to unleash themselves in her mind. She couldn't think of all of that now.

"Ah," was all she could manage.

Harry nodded. "You were missing days at work. You hardly slept. You were so destroyed that I couldn't even fathom throwing the fact that Malfoy had turned out to be a decent chap and a friend to me at you. It would have devastated you all over again. I couldn't do that to you," he explained.

Hermione blinked and felt wetness on her cheeks. When had she begun to cry? _Ron_. That was it. It usually was. "You were right to make that call, Harry. I'm sorry for getting upset with you. I know that you would never willingly exclude me from your life."

Harry nodded, then pulled her into a fierce hug. "I love you, 'Mione."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the old nickname, but hugged him back in turn. "Love you, Harry."

They returned to the booth after a few minutes. Hermione didn't care to conceal the traces of tears from her eyes. Who was she trying to impress? When they reached the booth, which was horseshoe-shaped, Harry slipped in next to Ginny. Beside Ginny was Blaise and Pansy curled into the back of the booth, then at the other end, Malfoy.

She was surprised and equally unsettled when Malfoy swiftly slid out of the booth so that she could slide in beside Pansy, so as not to have to sit in the drafty aisle seat. Draco Malfoy being chivalrous? It was too disconcerting. She looked up at him, eyes still a little bleary. He seemed to take in her red-rimmed orbs, but his stoic expression never altered. There was no trace of judgement in those eyes. She mumbled a quiet 'thanks' and slid in beside Pansy. He slid in after her. The booth was a tight fit for six and their thighs slightly touched. She tried not to think about it too much.

"So," Pansy prattled on, unhindered. "What was it like? Hm? You were both terribly brave, I think, to do what you did," she praised, beaming at Blaise with adoring eyes.

Hermione had always suspected that Pansy had a thing for Blaise. He had been practically the only boy in Slytherin to not date her. She was quite convinced that this was because Blaise had been the only guy she actually cared enough about to not want to hurt with her fleeting dalliances.

Blaise shrugged, leaning back into the dark red seat, throwing his arm casually – and unconsciously, to Hermione's discerning eye – around Pansy's shoulder. There was something very natural about the two of them. She wasn't one to believe in delusions of true love and soul mates, but these took certainly looked the part.

"Not much to tell, to be honest," Blaise spoke candidly. "How many Death Eaters did we wrestle in, Draco? Ninety-six or something?" he winked at Draco, who scowled darkly, clearly not amused.

"Forty-one," he muttered darkly.

Hermione could feel the tension in his body radiating through her own. She realized just how uncomfortable he was about the topic. If his words from yesterday were any indication of his feelings, he had truly despised the past two years abroad, especially the attention that it had garnered from the press.

"Forty-one," Blaise repeated proudly. Then he frowned. "There's really nothing exciting about the whole ordeal, you know. Neither of us particularly enjoyed ruining the remaining Voldemort-sympathizing families that we grew up with." He shook his head, unsettled. "Kids we grew up with, their parents, their aunts and uncles. It was a pretty miserable affair, to be frank," he finished with a shrug.

The mood grew heavy. Everyone stared at him sympathetically, affected by his abrupt and uncharacteristically subdued attitude. Blaise slid his arm from around Pansy's shoulder, who frowned imperceptibly at the loss of his touch, and grabbed a handful of peanuts from the basket on the table.

Hermione leant back in her own seat, taking a long, slow sip of beer. She let it slide down her throat, tasting its headiness. It had taken her some time to enjoy the taste. She didn't drink often, but when she did, one beer seemed to hit the spot. It was a simple indulgence to her.

"You're being terribly quiet," Pansy observed, gazing across Hermione at Draco. He shifted beside her, his warm thigh brushing hers. She instinctively shifted further away from him, discomfited by his proximity.

"I just don't see the point of sharing horror stories with everyone. It's nothing anyone needs to hear. It's nothing anyone hasn't already seen."

Hermione stared into her amber beer as the conversation at the table gradually lulled into something safer, something familiar. Work. Auror training. Cooking. Rent. Raising children. Ginny had loads to share with an eager Pansy on the subject of children. Pansy apparently adored children so much that she'd consider skipping the 'finding a man' part and do the 'begetting a child' part first. Blaise didn't seem to like that idea much as he affectionately advised Pansy that all children needed a good father. Hermione suspected that he was hinting at something more, and from Pansy's bright flush and hazy eyes, she suspected the same.

"Sometimes I wonder why those two delay sleeping with each other. It would spare us all the discomfort of witnessing their pining," Malfoy drawled lowly from beside her.

Hermione looked up at him sharply, eyes narrowed. He wasn't looking at her, though. He was watching Blaise and Pansy's obvious flirtation. Assuming that he hadn't been speaking to her, she returned her gaze to the amber liquid.

"What? Nothing to say in the defence of your friend?" he asked.

Hermione turned to him once more and found his grey eyes staring curiously down at her. Her lips parted for a moment then shut. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Are you talking to me?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "No. I make it a habit of speaking to myself while in the company of other human beings." Hermione stared up at him, frowning. He sighed, exasperated. "Yes, I was talking to you."

"Oh. Well." She paused. "I think they bask in the sexual tension. It's the excitement, you know? Everyone loves the chase." The words were out of her mouth before she could so much as censor herself. Did she just use the word _sexual_ in a casual conversation with Draco Malfoy?

Malfoy quirked a brow at her. "Naughty much, Granger?"

Hermione's cheeks burned red. How absolutely mortifying. Her embarrassment was quickly replaced by anger, however, and she pursed her lips, lowering her gaze back to her glass, letting her hair fall on either side of her face as a shield. "Why do you have to do that?" she asked crossly.

Malfoy was silent for a moment. "Do what?"

Hermione glared up at him. "You asked me something. I answered. Then you go and ridicule me," was her brief explanation. "It's no wonder I can't stand you. You can be very," she paused, wanting to say something uncouth. Unable to find a word that would encompass his attitude, she settled on: "rude". Though less effective, it was accurate.

Malfoy chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated through her. She reddened even more. "Now you're laughing at me," she muttered. Not that she was surprised. The blond prat had always taken delight in others' misfortunes and discomfort.

"Still as stiff as a pin cushion," he said tauntingly.

"Still an arrogant arse," she snapped back.

He shook his head, eyes flashing. After a brief silence, he asked, "Why are you here?"

"What?"

"You certainly didn't come to celebrate my return. So why are you here?" he asked again.

Hermione grumbled under her breath, glaring into the tabletop. "Because Pansy deceived me into thinking it would be just the two of us. Believe you me, I didn't come here for you."

His eyes lost their sharpness. "I wouldn't expect as much," he said, voice low.

"What are you two talking about?" Ginny's curious voice jerked Hermione back to reality. She pulled away from Malfoy, who leaned back in his seat once more, unperturbed.

Pansy rounded on Hermione, eyes wide. "You were talking to Draco? And you weren't yelling!" She beamed. "I knew this was a good idea. I knew you'd warm up to him, Hermione. He's not so bad, is he? A little rough around the edges, but he's a good guy. I'm so glad you're taking all of this so well. You know, I was worried you'd be resentful or something, but that was a stupid thing to think. I'm so happy right now," she finished, breathless.

Blaise chuckled softly from beside Pansy. Hermione shrunk beneath the attention of Harry, Ginny, Blaise and Pansy. She wished Malfoy would say something, anything to divert the unwanted attention away from her. She glimpsed over her shoulder to find him watching her, a smirk on his bloody, high-cheek boned face. She scowled.

"Yes, well," she paused, hesitating. "I'm sure he's very kind to those he favours," she said simply, finishing the last of her beer. "I have a mountain of work to get through, so I'll take my leave."

Pansy frowned. "But it's still early!" she whined.

Hermione smiled sympathetically. "I should really get some rest. Thanks for the beer." She made to stand, but a firm hand caught her wrist, stopping her. She felt a jolt run through her when she saw the pale hand was connected to Malfoy. His strong hand was hot against her skin. He quickly released her, as if registering what he had done.

"Don't leave on my account." He spoke quietly so that only she could hear him. She could feel everyone else's eyes on them.

She licked her lips which were suddenly dry. "I'm not. Don't give yourself so much credit." Her words might have been construed by some as malicious, but there was evident weariness beneath her tone that took the bite right out of them. Malfoy merely nodded silently, not taking offence. He thankfully made no further protest, and rose, stepping aside. Hermione slid past him, her shoulders softly brushing his chest in the narrow space.

"Goodnight," she said, offering a small, awkward wave.

A chorus of 'goodnights' followed her departure. As she crossed the bar, she tried to shake the feeling of a pair of discerning silver eyes watching her every step.

.**cppw**.

Hermione spent the rest of that weekend scouring her case notes. She responded to owls sent from Pansy and Ginny respectively, both prying into the contents of her conversation with Malfoy. She merely replied: _Mind you own business, _before sending the owls back.

On Sunday night, she pulled on her pyjamas early, around six o'clock, and put on the television to watch a show. Crookshanks curled up on her, pawing her stomach greedily, demanding attention. She stroked the cat's coarse red fur gently until he began to purr so loudly that she was forced to increase the volume on the television.

She was simply too tired to function correctly. She had worked tirelessly over the past thirty-six hours and her body was at a point where it could no longer handle any physical activity. She fell asleep not long after six o'clock.

Several hours later, Hermione was startled awake by the sound of Crookshanks' restlessness. He was hissing at the front door with spitting fury. She hopped off the couch and scooped the cat up into her arms, whipping out her wand instinctively.

"Hush, Crooks," she cooed, kissing the cat's forehead and placing him back on the couch. But the cat would not be subdued and climbed onto the top of the sofa where he could see the door and continued to hiss angrily. Hermione cautiously approached the door. Her hand fell on the knob. Taking a deep breath and levelling her wand for a defensive attack, she threw the door open - no one; only the dark, quiet hallway.

She lit the hallway with her wand; still nothing. Then she looked down at her feet. A manila envelope sat on her doorstep. Her name was written across it in unfamiliar, elegant scrawl. She picked it up, shut and locked the door, strengthening the wards as a precaution. She dropped back onto the couch. Crooks hopped down from the top of it, sniffing the envelope suspiciously, before snuggling against her thigh, nudging her with his cold nose. She patted him absently and opened the sealed parcel, drawing out its contents.

Her blood ran cold.

There were four 8 x 12 photos within it. Photos of _her_. The first was of her in her apartment last night, seated on the floor, surrounded by case files. It was taken from the perspective of her living room window. The second was of her hugging Harry in the washroom hallway at the bar. The third was of her sitting at the booth with the five other wizards and witches. The last left her nauseous, feeling dirty and invaded. It was of her stepping out of the bathroom, a short towel wrapped around her, just barely concealing her bum. It had been taken from _inside_ her flat.

She felt sick to her stomach as she turned over the photos. The one of her in a towel had red writing written across it. It read: _If it's all the same, let's call it a game. Perhaps you recall the phrase "cat and mouse"? I will have you when the time comes, and I will devour your body and soul. It is said that a new power looms on the horizon, a power that begins with you. You cannot hide. You are always within my sights. _

Hermione shoved the photos back into the envelope. With trembling hands, she leaned over and pulled open a drawer in her coffee table. She threw the envelope inside and slammed it shut. Still shaking, she rose on unsteady legs and moved through her flat, stumbling dizzily. She shut the blinds in all of her windows.

She returned to the couch in her living room, a sickening sensation growing in her stomach. Some sick bastard was spying on her in the privacy of her own home, and was spying on her friends. She didn't even want to begin to think about the words on the photo. This kind of invasion of privacy made her stomach turn. There was only one person it could possibly be. It was the same person who had left the ribbon for her, who had gotten into her parents' home. She swallowed thickly. It had to be the serial killer. It just had to.

Suddenly, Hermione felt a lot less safe in her small, warded flat.

**There you have it!**

**Virtual penny for your thoughts?**


	4. Now I'm Here

**AN: As a general note, I'll be fairly busy over the next two weeks and my intention is to get another chapter out by next Tuesday latest (fingers crossed!) Without further ado, here's the next installment. Happy reading all!**

CHAPTER FOUR

_Now I'm Here_

Hermione walked into the Ministry Monday morning with her head held high. To all outward appearances, she looked the epitome of calm, confident collectedness. Behind the meticulous front, however, it was an entire story altogether. She was an utter mess of rattled nerves. The photos she had found outside her flat had shaken her terribly. She had hardly slept the previous night and had kept checking her wards, afraid that some faceless murderer was stalking the hall outside just waiting for her to let her guard down.

Once in the Department of Internal Defense, she was greeted by an ever-chipper Pansy. "Good morning!" she called, sliding gracefully out from behind the reception desk.

"Hello, Pansy," she replied.

The young woman handed her several letters. "These came in the mail for you. If I'm not mistaken one of them looks to be a check for the benefit." She grinned widely. "See? It's not beyond the realm of reason to hope that more donors will pull through in the next two weeks."

She was trying to cheer Hermione up, and she appreciated the effort. "I suppose," was her half-hearted reply.

Pansy frowned. "Cheer up, Hermione. Things can only get better, right? Did you make any progress in the investigation?"

Hermione shook her head. She had decided that it would be best to keep the photos and note to herself for the time being. No sense in rousing needless worry. "No, not really. I'm thinking it might be helpful to revisit the crime scenes."

Pansy nodded enthusiastically. "You'll get him. I know you will."

Hermione nodded. "Hopefully sooner than later."

"There's one last thing…" Pansy began, scrounging around the surface of her desk. She pulled out a small note card. "Ah. Here we go." She passed it to Hermione. "Kingsley's made an appointment with you scheduled for later this morning."

Hermione took the appointment card. "Thanks. Well, I'll see you later."

Pansy returned to her desk, promptly settling back into responding to owl mail, and registering and organizing completed case files.

Hermione strode into her office, softly closing the door behind her. She was hoping that Kingsley had thought up some ingenious plan to bring attention to the serial killings. It was her firm belief that the more attention there was directed at him, the more he'd second guess himself. Hopefully that would increase the chances of him taking a misstep. _Hopefully_.

**.cppw.**

At eleven o'clock sharp, Hermione rapped her knuckles on Kingsley's office door. He called her in, sounding rather cheery. She let herself into the cozy office. Kingsley was flipping through a few documents. He put them aside and gestured for her to take a seat.

"I think I have found a solution, Miss Granger, to this ordeal of yours."

"I'm eager to hear it," she replied carefully, scrutinizing those sly eyes of his.

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully. "I spoke to Mr. Potter earlier this morning to make certain inquiries after my plan. He seemed to be in full support of its potential to, not only bring in the press' attention in order to keep the public better informed of these murders, but to ensure your safety as well."

Hermione frowned deeply. "My safety?" she asked. She had told him about the ribbon incident, but had no intention of telling him about the photos she'd found delivered to her doorstep last night.

A brisk knocking at the door interrupted her thoughts. A secretive smile graced the Minister's lips then, and Hermione felt dread rise in her throat. "Yes?" he called.

The mousy receptionist peered inside the office. "Minister, Mr. Malfoy is here for the meeting."

Hermione froze.

"Please invite him in," Kingsley replied, nonplussed.

Draco gracefully strode into the room, seeming to stop short at the sight of Hermione glaring up at him. He narrowed his eyes into silver slits in return. "Granger," he drawled, unaffected by her hostility.

"Malfoy," she bit out.

Kingsley gestured him to sit in the chair beside Hermione's. She shifted uncomfortably as he stiffly lowered himself into the seat. "Harry told me you wanted to speak with me, sir. I didn't realize the meeting would include anyone else."

"Yes, well, minor detail, don't you agree?" Kingsley's wise dark eyes swept over the clearly unhappy pair. Not so minor a detail, Hermione thought, and judging by Draco's dour expression, it was not so minor in his opinion either. Well, at least they shared some common ground.

"Mr. Malfoy, allow me to quickly bring you up to speed on some recent developments in the Department of Internal Defense. In the past month, there have been three murders. All the victims were female witches and the murders, as Miss Granger was quick to point out, all shared the same MO. To put it plainly, we fear that we may have a serial killer on our hands." Kingsley paused to allow this to sink in.

Hermione turned her perceptive chocolate eyes to Draco, wracking her mind for why the Minister would involve an auror in the intricacies of her case, and Malfoy, no less. Draco was wearing a deep frown on his pale face. One might say he appeared upset by the revelation.

"I had heard whispered rumours, sir. I didn't know the extent of the case." His grim frown deepened. "Has any progress been made in the case?"

Hermione found herself speaking before she could help it. It was _her_ case after all and she was the authority on it. "I've been combing the files for anything that could give me a lead, but there's nothing. The crime scenes are always magically swept clean before we arrive. No magical traces are ever found, not even DNA," she said automatically.

"DNA?" Draco asked, blonde brows knitting together, confused.

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Wizards;_ so hopeless. "It's a muggle version of a magical trace, an imprint of sorts that can be used to identify someone's identity. I've tried employing it since a trace didn't work, but he's incredibly thorough and I've had no luck yet."

Draco turned his eyes to her, staring deeply into her own. Hermione bit her lip, tearing her gaze away from his own. "Forgive my inquiring, Minister," she said abruptly, eager to move the focus away from her case while Malfoy was there, "but why is Malfoy even here? I thought we were going to figure out a plan to draw in the media's attention to raise the public's awareness and encourage citizen self-surveillance?"

Kingsley nodded patiently. "That is indeed why we are here, Miss Granger. That is also why I invited Mr. Malfoy to join us."

Draco narrowed his eyes, reflecting Hermione's own suspicion.

"I have a solution to our problem," he continued pleasantly addressing both of those present in the room. "Mr. Malfoy has had a tireless past two years and I think assigning him some lighter work would serve him well and provide him with adequate time to recover. In a similar vein, Miss Granger, you have been personally attacked by the suspect and you and your family's safety called into question." He paused here, allowing Hermione and Draco time to take this in.

Draco's silver eyes slowly moved from the Minister to Hermione. She shifted beneath the gaze of both men. "What are you implying, Minister?" Hermione asked tersely.

"I am implying nothing, Miss Granger. I am suggesting that Mr. Malfoy take time off from being on-call and serve as your security detail." Hermione and Draco both went still at this. "Mr. Malfoy is attracting much of the press' attention these days which will automatically bring attention to the case you're working."

Hermione was out of her chair in an instant, nearly knocking it over. She was flushed with indignation. Kingsley looked up at her tumultuous face, unperturbed. "With all due respect, Minister. I don't see why a security detail is necessary. I'm one of the top agents with Internal Defense. I have been trained extensively in combative magic. I can fend for myself, sir. Respectfully."

Kingsley did not look pleased by her defiant attitude. "_Respectfully_, Miss Granger, it is our firm policy here at the Ministry to respond to threats posed on official personnel with a security detail. You are a government worker and are not exempt from this regulation."

Draco spoke up finally, voice smooth and level, but there was an evident strain to his normally velvet tone. "Minister, I appreciate your concern, but I don't need time off from work. If anything, I desperately need to keep myself busy. I didn't train for years to become an auror, then lead a company in a two-year long offensive, only to return and be assigned babysitting duty."

Hermione bristled, rounding on him. "Babysittting!"

Draco merely looked up at her, apparently bored by her antics.

"That's quite enough. Both of you." Kingsley rose. Draco swiftly followed suit. The Minister turned first to him. "Fortunate for you, Mr. Malfoy, that I am sure that with Miss Granger's security on your hands you will by kept sufficiently 'busy'." Draco tried and failed to conceal a scowl. Kingsley's knowing eyes then drifted to Hermione. "Miss Granger, you will continue to work your case and Mr. Malfoy will back you up throughout your investigation. As a security detail he will take care of securing both your home and your family's home to protect you from potential threats. That is final."

Draco pursed his lips. Hermione fumed silently beside him.

"Minister, please reconsider…" she began, but was promptly cut off.

"I will do no such thing," he said briskly. "Now, if the two of you will return to your department, Miss Granger you can debrief Mr. Malfoy on the case." He turned his dark eyes to Draco. "I trust this will not be a problem." His eyes slid back to Hermione. "For either of you."

"Not at all, sir," Draco replied levelly, all traces of disapproval vanished from his face. He looked, much to Hermione's annoyance, the epitome of professionalism.

Draco was the first to shift into motion. He let himself out of the office and Hermione begrudgingly followed after him, closing the door behind them. She marched past him and the mousy secretary, straight to the lift, punching the call button with a vengeance. The doors opened and she stormed inside, holding it open until Draco had caught up with his long, unhurried strides and stepped in as well. The doors shut and the magical lift began dropping and jerking to and fro. The two silent occupants of the lift planted their feet wide and firmly to keep their balance. Silence pervaded.

Hermione was roiling with fury inside. How was it that of all the people she could end up having assigned to her as a security detail, it had to be Malfoy? Malfoy! She huffed angrily, crossing her arms over her chest. Ever since Hogwarts she had successfully evaded the prat, but now that he was back and all of a sudden the unlikely hero of the hour, he was _everywhere_. Not only was he buddies with her best friend, but now he was her partner in a manner of speaking. Some greater power was out to get her, that much was certain.

"You know, you could try a little harder to hide how much this arrangement infuriates you," he said evenly, as the doors of the lift finally slid open on their floor.

Hermione pursed her lips, refusing to look at him. "Bugger off," she growled.

He easily kept pace with her as she navigated her way towards her office. "Tell me, when did you become so pleasant to be around?"

Hermione didn't deign his taunt with a response. Soon enough, Pansy came into view. Apparently it wasn't a busy day at the department because she had a bare foot planted on the desk and a jar of black nail polish open beside her. She delicately brushed the shiny polish across her perfectly manicured toenails. She looked up as Hermione and Draco drew near, her eyes widening.

"What happened? You both look like you just got a disciplinary scolding"

"We did, in a manner of speaking. But it's worse than that," Hermione scowled.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Kinglsey's assigned me as Granger's security detail. She's pissed because she's immature and can't handle working with an old foe from school," Draco grit out.

Pansy's eyes widened even more, with anticipation or dread at what was sure to be a coming storm, only she knew.

Hermione rounded on him, fire flaring dangerously behind her dark eyes, one slender finger pointed accusingly at his chest. "That has _nothing_ to do with it."

Draco quirked a fine brow, clearly not believing her one bit.

Hermione grumbled under her breath. "Fine! Maybe it has a little bit to do with it. But I'm not immature! I don't _know_ you, all right? The fact of the matter is that I don't _like_ you. I never got a chance to… get used to you… unlike my traitorous friends," she growled. "And I don't _trust_ you. Not with my safety and certainly not with my parents' safety. I can handle myself. I don't _need _or _want_ your help," she snapped venomously.

A moment of silence encompassed the tense office space. Hermione's cheeks were slightly flushed and Draco was wearing a downright surly expression, clearly irked by her cold words. He leaned towards her until his face was several inches away. Neither looked away, both equally fierce in their face-off.

"Well, here's news for you, Granger. No one gives a _fuck_ what you want. I'm not asking you to trust me. Kingsley's confidence in me should be enough to placate any of your concerns. I'm not the bigoted child that I used to be. I'm an auror—a professional—and I do my job bloody well. You may not like me, and I may not be particularly fond of this arrangement, but my job is to guarantee you and your family's safety, and that," he paused, his gaze meaningfully serious, "you can rely on me to do," he countered. His face lingered close to hers for a moment longer than necessary, their harsh breaths intermingling in a disconcertingly intimate way. He slowly pulled his head away, towering over her.

Hermione's heart was pounding loudly in her chest as she drew in a slow, calming breath, her fists clenched by her side. This was a pointless battle. It was wasting precious time and energy. He was stuck with her, and she with him. There was nothing to be done about it. She would just have to deal with it. He was right, though she'd never admit it to him, but she was being immature about this situation.

"Meet me in my office in five," she stated sharply, before turning on her heels, leaving a frowning Malfoy and suspiciously grinning Pansy behind her.

**.cppw.**

Draco had been sitting in the chair opposite her desk for the past five minutes and Hermione had not so much as looked up to acknowledge him. He hadn't seemed bothered at first by her obvious avoidance of him and his duties, but judging by his steadily tapping fingers across the armrest, it was finally grating on him.

She looked up from her case file, surprised to see his grey eyes staring fiercely into her skull. She blinked, shifting under his gaze.

"Are you done ignoring me?" he asked. "Because despite what you may think, I still have other responsibilities to tend to. Ones that don't involve you."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She slid a copy of the case across the desk to him. He took it into his hands, flipping through the documents and images. He took his time, carefully perusing the documents. She didn't rush him, but watched carefully as he progressed through her investigation. He kept a relatively straight face, not betraying his emotions, but the occasional tick in his jaw certainly looked like withheld anger.

"This is revolting. It's sick."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

"What's the Ministry doing to spread awareness?" he asked, finally looking up at her.

Hermione tossed a copy of the Prophet onto the desk in front of him. "Not much. The information is in the press' hands." She watched as his silver eyes scanned the inadequate coverage of the suspected serial killings. "Unfortunately, the Prophet cares more about what cologne you're wearing than dying women," she said coldly.

His porcelain face held no emotion when he finally looked back up at her. "I didn't ask for this attention."

"Well you've got it," she snapped, "and now that you're on my security detail, I fully intend on exploiting you." Her eyes flashed challengingly, as if daring him to say something in protest. He didn't rise to the bait.

Leaning back in his seat, he tossed the paper back onto the desk, crossing his muscled arms over his chest and levelling his eyes at her. "Kingsley said you were threatened. It's why I'm here in the first place."

Hermione scowled. She pulled open the top desk drawer and withdrew the yellow ribbon. He watched her carefully, curious. She ran her fingers over the familiar material, trying to ignore the sickening feeling in her chest. She thrust it towards him. He took it. His eyes carefully appraised her, before lowering to scan the elegant script.

"_Do you understand the game yet?_" he recited, turning over the faded ribbon in his hands. "Does it mean something to you?" he asked, sliding it back across the desk. Hermione didn't take it.

"Not really. Obviously this is some kind of sick game to him, one that he's involved me in." She rose from her desk, running a shaky hand through her hair. "That ribbon was mine when I was a little girl. It's been sitting in a box of mementos in my parents' attic for the past twenty years." Her dark eyes met his silver ones. "He was in my parents' house, Malfoy. He was in their house," she repeated, feeling shivers run up her arms. She dug the heels of her palms into her weary eyes. "He could've…" she couldn't finish the thought.

"But he didn't," he said with assuredness. Hermione lowered her hands and looked at his impassive face, oddly comforted by his certainty. "Take me there."

Hermione raised her brow. "What?"

"To your parents' house," he clarified. "I'll strengthen the wards, perform some safety measures. Regulation stuff. The auror emergency response team will be notified should there be some kind of breach of non-secure persons." He rose from his seat, not wasting any time.

Hermione wanted to tell him no. She didn't want him in her childhood home. She could take care of her parents. She struggled with the desire to refuse him, but ultimately conceded. She wouldn't let her pride get in the way of securing her parents' safety.

"Okay," she relented, "but I don't want to scare them. So don't let on about the serial killer." He didn't look too pleased with her request. "Please," she whispered, too tired to argue.

He seemed to weigh his options for a moment. "They should be made aware of the facts, Granger. But it's not for me to explain the situation to them."

Hermione nodded, hating how his words made her feel guilty for wanting to protect her parents from unnecessary worry.

"Let's go," she said, eager to get things rolling.

**.cppw.**

Ten minutes later, Hermione was knocking on her childhood home's door. She couldn't quite believe that she was standing on her parents' stoop right beside Draco Malfoy. Never in her wildest dream had she imagined the equivalent of this bewildering situation. "Be nice," she hissed at him when she heard the locks being undone on the other side of the door.

He directed a grin at her. "I'm the epitome of charm, Granger."

The door opened to reveal a greying Jane Granger, hair swept up in a top-bun, wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt, an apron dusted in flour tied about her waist. She beamed at the sight of her daughter. "Hermione! Sweetheart, I wasn't expecting you!"

She embraced her daughter, ushering her inside, the smell of fresh baked bread warming Hermione's body and reawakening nostalgic memories of her childhood. Jane's green eyes turned to survey the tall, handsome figure that Draco Malfoy cut. She gave her daughter a mischievous smirk and Hermione inwardly groaned when she saw the twinkle in her mother's eye.

"And who might this dashing young man be?"

Malfoy courteously took her hand in his. "Draco Malfoy. Mrs. Granger, it's a real pleasure."

Jane smiled warmly, patting his hand affectionately. "Oh, call me Jane, dear."

Hermione watched as several emotions flitted across Draco's austere face. He looked taken aback by the effortless warmth of her mother's greeting.

"Henry! Come down and meet Hermione's boyfriend!" Jane hollered up the stairs.

Hermione felt her cheeks burn bright red. Draco stiffened beside her, also shocked at Jane's assumption. He shifted uneasily beside her.

"Mom, we're not…"

"You're mistaken, Mrs. Granger…"

"He's not my boyfriend…

"Your daughter's a fine girl, but…"

"He's really not my type…"

"We're just work acquaintances…"

"… and he's a prat, really."

Draco shot her a glare at that. "A prat?" he hissed at her as Henry Granger appeared in the living room, a broad smile on his face.

Hermione shrugged and gave him a sly, saccharine smile. Draco scoffed.

"Hi, dad," she said, kissing him on his coarse cheek.

"Hello, baby girl." His smile dimmed somewhat, when he looked up at Draco, his kind, wise eyes appraising the tall man before him. He held out his hand, firm. "Henry Granger."

"Draco Malfoy." He shook Hermione's father's firm hand.

"You're the tyrant from her school years. The one who made her life at Hogwarts a misery, aren't you?" Henry demanded flatly.

Hermione choked on her own breath, eyes widening. Draco stiffened, attempted to speak, but faltered, completely unprepared to respond to Henry's brusque, but nonetheless astute, observation.

"Dad," Hermione said warningly.

"He's your boyfriend?" Henry asked, accusingly.

"No. He's not."

Jane smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry dear, you both just looked so well-suited. I just assumed…"

"No harm done, Mrs. Granger," Malfoy insisted gruffly, finally finding his voice.

"Just as well," Mr. Granger mumbled. "Well?" he asked, gaze directed at Malfoy.

"Henry…" Jane said, taking his arm.

"I was no friend of your daughter's while at Hogwarts, sir," Draco said, voice surprisingly even. Hermione was quite frankly shocked that he had responded honestly to her father's rather curt inquiry. "I regret that I was unkind to many of my peers during my teenage years. I've been trying to make amends."

Henry nodded, the fraught lines in his face softening somewhat.

Hermione felt responsible for Draco, somehow. She had brought him unwittingly into the crossfire of her dad's protectiveness. Without much thought, she stepped slightly in front of Draco, taking a defensive stance, her shoulder brushing his arm unintentionally. "He's changed, Dad. " She glanced over her shoulder at him, only to find his silver eyes intently watching her, some unknown emotion swirling behind his smoky gaze. "He's done great things for the Wizarding World, and I… I've forgiven him for the past." She felt Draco's body tense behind her, felt him release a long breath that tickled the back of her neck. "He's here to help me secure the house."

"I thought you already did?" Henry asked, attention now on Hermione.

"Draco works for the Ministry and has more security measures at his disposal. We won't be long," she assured him.

"What's going on, Hermione?" he pressed, eyes narrowed.

Hermione shifted under her dad's sharp gaze. "I'm working on a murder case. It's just a precaution, nothing to worry about," she explained, brushing it off.

Henry relented, returning to his study to read, while Jane went off to check on her Cornish pasties. Hermione in the meantime, took Malfoy around the main floor. He secured the floo, creating an emergency line to both the Internal Defense Department and Hermione's own apartment. They worked silently while he threw up some wards on the main level to enforce Hermione's, then she proceeded to lead him upstairs to the second story.

Halfway up the dim stairwell, he caught her wrist, jolting her to a stop. Hermione felt her heart tighten uncomfortably as she turned to face him, his angular face somewhat cast in shadow. She was two steps above him, which left her even with his height. She found herself staring straight into two silver pools. She swallowed thickly.

"You forgive me?" he asked, his voice low.

Hermione licked her lips and studied his handsome features. She had never been this close to his face before, and what a pretty face it was – surprisingly angelic. She caught herself, and chastised her wayward thoughts. "I guess I do," she breathed shakily, ultra-aware of how close he was to her.

He released her wrist and merely nodded, thoughtful. Then he smirked. "So you've told your parents about me?" he asked with a smirk. The intensity of the moment vanished in a flash and Hermione rolled her eyes. Electing to ignore him, she continued up the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was satisfied with Malfoy's work and no longer regretting allowing him to enter her parents' home. Aside from her mother's awkward interpretation of their relationship and her father's own Spanish Inquisition, quietly working alongside Draco had proven not as terrible as she had thought it would be. He was a quiet, diligent worker, like herself, she hated to admit.

She found her parents in the kitchen softly talking. She walked inside, Draco waiting in the arch of the room, not wanting to overstep his welcome. He was still treading thin waters with her dad.

"Well, we're done here," she declared.

Jane smiled, turning her gaze to Draco who stood stiffly in the doorway. "Are you going to secure Hermione's flat now?"

"No, he's not," Hermione said quickly, talking over Draco's response. She shot him a glare. "I can take care of my own flat."

Jane didn't look happy with this. "But you said he had more measures available to him. Your father and I would feel a lot better if he'd take care of you as well."

Hermione bristled at the thought of Draco 'taking care of her', as her mother put it. She made to speak, but this time Draco spoke over her, confident and collected. "I couldn't agree more, Mrs. Granger."

"Jane," she corrected warmly.

"Jane," he repeated smoothly, directing a sly smile at Hermione. She narrowed her eyes at him. Who did he think he was, coming into her home and charming her mother like that? Why she ought to…

"Your mother is right, Hermione. Take the appropriate measures," her father chimed.

Hermione recognized a lost battle the minute her father backed Malfoy. She didn't stand a chance. She huffed, "Fine. I'll do it. Are you all happy?" she growled.

Jane smiled brightly and laughed. "You can be so stubborn, sweetheart. But it's for the best."

A few minutes later Hermione and Draco were leaving the house. Jane quickly caught Hermione's wrist while Draco walked halfway down the front path. "Your friend is really quite charming. Bring him over again soon."

Hermione didn't respond to that, fighting back the blush that was spreading across her cheeks. She joined Malfoy behind a particularly large tree, concealing them from the view of any muggles who might potentially see them apparate. She grabbed his arm to side-along apparate when she felt him staring intently at her.

"You're blushing something terrible," he observed.

Hermione avoided his eyes. "My mom just said something silly…"

"She likes me."

"Yes, well, I've always questioned her tastes."

He chuckled softly, his body vibrating beneath her hand. That deep, rich sound echoed around them as she apparated them onto the doorstep outside her London flat.

**.cppw.**

Hermione let Draco into her flat. It was unsettling to see the tall blonde man who was once the bane of her teenage existence walking casually into her flat. They stood in her living room for a moment. She shuffled uneasily while he scanned the small room. He soundlessly began to wave his wand, testing the strength of her wards. She felt proud when he didn't improve upon them. She was that good.

Crookshanks, curious as to who the stranger in his home was, waddled up to them and began to weave his way between their ankles. Hermione laughed softly when Draco's lips morphed into an unfriendly scowl. He stepped away from the ginger half-kneazle, continuing his work, but Crooks was having none of that, apparently taking a liking to him. She watched, glaring at her cat, as he brushed up against Malfoy's calf and started to purr. "Traitor," she muttered under her breath. Why did everyone in her life, including her mother and now her cat, seem so smitten with Malfoy?

Crookshanks began to paw at his pants and Malfoy seemed acutely uncomfortable. "Would you care to remove your feline from my trousers?"

Hermione, rather amused at the site of a discomfited Malfoy, merely shrugged. "I wouldn't care to, actually." She grinned in response to his glower, contenting herself with watching him make a vain attempt at ignoring the insistent cat.

He finished securing the living room, kitchen and the floo system. His eyes paused on the mantle, scanning the photos Hermione had set up there of her and her friends, her parents, and to the extreme left, one of her wrapped in Ron's arms. Call her sentimental, but she still hadn't had the heart to take that one down. It had been a wonderful day. She quickly looked away. He turned to her, face shadowed. "Anymore windows?"

"Just the bedroom, come on," she called, leading him into her bedroom. He walked right in after her, as if standing in Hermione Granger's bedroom was the most natural thing to do. She was grateful when he set to securing the windows without making any comments or looking around too much.

"Done," he said softly, some minutes later.

They stood in her bedroom for a silent moment until Hermione broke the awkward silence. "Let's get out of here, then." She met his gaze for a moment and his eyes were penetrating. She was lost for a moment, in those perceptive, entrancing eyes. She felt like he could see right through her and it unsettled her. "Right." She turned away from him and led him out into the hallway where they silently apparated back to the Ministry.

**.cppw.**

That week passed by quickly. Things in the department were relatively quiet. Hermione had arranged to visit the first murder location on Friday so she had little need for Malfoy's assistance until then. It was Thursday and mercifully she hadn't seen him since Monday. At around four o'clock, Pansy skipped into her office, lively and spritely as usually.

"So are you coming over to mine to get ready for tonight?" she asked cheerily, plopping down into the chair opposite Hermione.

Hermione looked at her blankly. "What's happening tonight?" she asked, distracted.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "It's the award ceremony, remember? The Ministry is presenting Draco's team with honourary medals for their work abroad."

Hermione groaned inwardly. She had completely forgotten about the ceremony. She'd been far too immersed in her work to pay attention to such trivialities. She would have to go, of course. It would reflect poorly on her to not should her support for the team. "I don't have anything to wear," she said tersely, putting her papers away.

Pansy grinned blindingly. "That's fine. I have a great new outfit that I think will look fantastic on you."

Hermione begrudgingly conceded to Pansy's desire to dress her for the evening, hoping she wouldn't regret it. Two hours later, she and Pansy walked into the Ministry ballroom which was bustling with members from various departments, press reporters, journalists, photographers, and the family and friends of those being honoured that evening.

Everyone looked elegant as they enjoyed bright cocktails and delicate canapés. Hermione couldn't help but admire the lively, optimistic atmosphere.

She glanced down at her own apparel, thoughtful. Pansy had given her a classy ensemble to wear, consisting of a pair of high-waisted, straight-legged black slacks, classy black heels, and a white, fitted v-neck blouse with a wide neckline that just barely clung to her shoulders, exposing her pail neck, petite shoulders, and a tasteful amount of her chest and back. Hermione shifted uncomfortably. The outfit was not something she would normally wear. It accentuated _everything: h_er chest, her waist, her legs, and her neck. And it showed more skin in the collarbone to sternum area than she'd recalled ever showing. She felt incredibly exposed and insecure, despite Pansy's continuous reassurances that she looked 'simply beautiful'.

Hermione made small talk with several of her peers until Harry and Ginny appeared beside her and Pansy. Harry looked smart in a formal suit beneath his official robes and Ginny looked the epitome of grace in a periwinkle knee-length number that flowed listlessly around her thighs.

"Hermione! You look amazing!" Ginny exclaimed, fiercely hugging her friend. Hermione returned the gesture with a warm smile. Harry seconded the compliment.

"It's all Pansy, really," Hermione insisted. Pansy basked in the praise that ensued and the group chatted, soon joined by Neville Longbottom and his fiancé, Luna Lovegood. They were an odd, but charming little couple and Hermione couldn't help but admire how well they got along despite the others' respective eccentricities.

The crowd mingled for an hour or so until a voice announced that the ceremony would be starting, asking everyone to kindly take their seats. The group of peers made their way towards the front, sitting around one-third down the length of the rows of seats. Hermione sat between Pansy and Ginny, settling in for the ceremony.

Kingsley took to the stage dressed in formal Wizarding robes. He looked regal standing there at the podium, majestic violet robes richly swaying with each step.

"Welcome, all, and thank you for joining us this evening to celebrate this important moment in history. Two years ago, a team of one dozen of our finest aurors were assembled and deployed on a mission of utmost significance. For the past two years, these brave men and women have scoured Europe to locate and contain the last of the free-roaming Death Eaters. Today we recognize their efforts by awarding them with high honours to commend their dedicated work. We are all greatly in their debt."

Hermione listened politely to the Minister as he called up each auror in turn to receive their respective honours. A polite and warm applause followed each auror. The eleventh name to be called was Blaise Zabini, who fell last in the alphabetical list of names. Pansy applauded with renewed fervour when they called him, sitting up straighter in her seat. Hermione glanced sideways at her, watching the young woman's face which was filled with adoration. Hermione smirked and applauded as well as Kingsley pinned the medal of honour to his chest.

"Lastly, this young man served as the team's fearless leader throughout the entire, arduous process. A pillar of strength and constancy for his team, he saw them safely through these past two years. He brought our soldiers home and with them the promise of peace. Please join me in commending Mr. Draco Malfoy, task force leader."

An uproar rose in response to this final name as the crowd surged to their feet. Camera flashes went off in a violent flurry, capturing every step the tall blonde took across the stage. Hermione rose as well, she wouldn't have been able to see, otherwise, and carefully watched his progress across the platform.

His face was set in a firm expression of determination. He betrayed no sense of being flattered or particularly pleased by the high praise he had received and the wild cheers that had erupted for him. In fact, to Hermione's trained eye, he appeared uncomfortable with the praise. Kingsley pinned the medal to his chest, and the two men shook hands.

Another few minutes and Kingsley's closing comments of a future peace came to an end on a hopeful note and the crowd rose, applauding, as the chairs vanished into thin air. Moments later, waiters swept out with trays of drinks and canapés. Instrumental music began to play and everyone mingled.

Hermione, Pansy, Ginny and Harry hung together towards the edge of the room, discussing the ceremony. Neville and Luna had slipped out right after the ceremony. Neville had to get to a night-shift at St. Mungos.

"Weren't the boys so handsome up there?" Pansy asked dreamily. "Blaise looked just fine, didn't he?"

Hermione and Ginny laughed gently at this. "Someone's smitten," Ginny cooed. Pansy blushed, making the three friends laugh harder than before.

"Who's smitten?" came the sultry voice of Blaise Zabini. He and Draco had crept up behind them. Blaise was smiling brightly at everyone, thanking them for coming out to support them. Hermione couldn't help but notice Draco sulking beside him, unsmiling as ever. He hardly seemed to notice anybody, content to just stare at his polished black dress shoes.

"Those were some words the Minister shared about you, Draco," Harry said lightly.

Draco looked up, shrugged. "It was unnecessary. I just did my job," he drawled.

Harry shook his head. "People don't realize just how dedicated you were to the task. You saved the teams' lives multiple times," he pushed.

Hermione's brows rose at that. "You did?" she asked, before she could help herself.

Draco turned his grey eyes to her as if seeing her for the first time. She felt a shiver course through her as those smoky eyes took in her figure, slowly drifting from her face to her ensemble. She could almost feel his eyes tracing her bare shoulders. She instinctively wrapped her arms around her waist. His expression darkened somewhat, his eyes glittering with some indefinable emotion. She shuffled her weight from foot to foot, uneasy, and his eyes promptly returned to her face.

"Once or twice," was his gruff reply. He looked away from her.

Blaise smacked his back. "He's being modest. This guy hardly slept these past two years, paranoid about keeping us safe. He stopped two surprise Death Eater attacks in the middle of the night and saved just about all of our skins at some point during take-downs."

Hermione observed Malfoy for a moment. He was scowling at Blaise. She realized then, rather shockingly, that Draco Malfoy truly had changed. He wasn't the boy she had known all those years ago, the snotty prat who craved attention and spoke down to anyone he felt superior to. He was a man now, a man who, from her perspective, looked like he had many demons.

"I think you've impressed Hermione, Draco," Pansy chimed mischievously. "She's rarely ever that thoughtful after a conversation. I think you struck a chord."

Hermione glared at Pansy. Draco was watching her again, quietly assessing. She hated when he did that, she felt so vulnerable for some reason. "Excuse me for a moment," she said rather quickly.

Without waiting for a response, she strode away from the small group, making her way across the floor. She reached the other side of the room where the band was playing and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Why was she feeling so overwhelmed? How was it that Malfoy seemed to make her lose her composure so easily? It wasn't like her. She attributed it to nerves, stress and being overworked. She just needed to clear her head for a moment…

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione's head shot up, cheeks lightly flushed, as she looked for the source of the feminine, airy voice. Her eyes landed on the last woman she ever thought she'd encounter in the Ministry. It shouldn't have surprised her, though. Why wouldn't Narcissa Malfoy come to support her son?

"Mrs. Malfoy. Hello," she said curtly.

She hadn't seen the woman in years, not since she'd been tortured in the manor and then at the final battle. Everyone knew now that it was in part thanks to Narcissa's deception that Harry survived the final battle at all. Hermione didn't really know the woman at all, but she had never been personally injured by her in anyway, so she gave her the benefit of the doubt. There was no reason to not be polite to the Malfoy matriarch.

"I'm so glad to have run into you," she said kindly, her blue eyes softening.

Hermione was taken slightly by surprise to hear the warmth in the outwardly regal-looking woman. "You are?"

Narcissa lightly placed her hand on Hermione's shoulder, a sympathetic gesture. "Draco's told me about the case you're working on. It's horrible what's been done to those poor girls."

Hermione could only nod. Draco had spoken to his _mother_ about her? How incredibly odd and unsettling.

"But I'm sure there's no one more suited to the task of bringing a murderer to justice than you. Draco says you've always been a bright young witch."

Hermione's eyes widened. "He said that?"

"Why yes," she said, as if Draco Malfoy complimenting anyone was the most normal thing in the world. "But let's not speak of such grim tidings on a day as celebratory as this. I've heard only recently of the campaign you've been working behind, to create a scholarship to support witches pursuing politics. I just yesterday made a donation for your benefit. It's a wonderful cause," she declared, her hand slipping away from Hermione's shoulder.

"Thank you," Hermione said. "That's very generous."

"Have you almost reached your goal? I recall you set the bar at 400,000 galleons."

Hermione averted her gaze, never one to enjoy admitting failure. "I'm afraid not," she said begrudgingly. "As of yesterday I'm still over one-hundred thousand galleons shy. I suppose I overestimated myself."

"Nonsense. There's still a week to go. I'm sure you'll find a way," she said encouragingly. The elegant woman took a dainty sip of champagne, blue eyes twinkling.

Hermione couldn't help but stare at her in awe. She seemed so _kind_. She had never imagined Narcissa would prove to be this down-to-earth. There was something about how she carried herself and spoke that fostered a sense of motherliness and nurturing.

"I hope you're right," Hermione replied in earnest, though doubting that she'd come up with the funds by next Saturday.

Narcissa's smile widened even more, her eyes flitting just over Hermione's left shoulder. She followed the woman's gaze and jumped. Draco Malfoy was towering over her, just behind her, nearly touching her back. She willed her heart to cease its mad pounding.

"Mother," he said, voice low. "I'm glad you made it."

Narcissa reached for her son's hand, pulling him closer until he stood between the two women. She squeezed his hand, then let it go, beaming proudly. "I wouldn't miss it. I am so proud of you, darling. And you looked so dashing up there."

Draco smiled thinly, his eyes shifting to Hermione briefly before returning to his mother.

"I was just having a lovely conversation with Miss Granger. Have you heard about the campaign she's working on?" Narcissa asked conversationally.

"No, I haven't," he said levelly, turning to Hermione. Narcissa turned to her as well, nodding encouragingly at her.

"Oh, right. Well," she paused to collect her thoughts, "it's just another one of my pet projects. I'm sure you recall my affinity for S.P.E.W.," she recollected thoughtfully.

The corner of Malfoy's lips upturned at the corner. "How could anyone forget," he teased. _Teased?_ Now he was teasing her? She was clearly going mad. Or he was. Either way.

"Through the campaign I'm trying to raise money to fund a scholarship for witches pursuing politics in higher education. I've moved on from house elf labour to the bridging of the gender divide," she admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. "There's a gala next week for the donors where the program will be launched."

"How very noble of you," Draco said. "Though, I'd expect no less from a Gryffindor."

Hermione glowered at him. Narcissa laughed gently. "I like this one, Draco. She's quite charming."

It was Hermione's turn to laugh as Draco's cheeks burned red. "Mother," he growled warningly.

"Son," Narcissa replied innocently. "Make sure you donate generously to Miss Granger's cause," she instructed her son. "I must be off." She kissed Draco's cheek then, much to Hermione's surprise kissed hers as well. "I suppose I'll see you next week then."

"Yes," Hermione replied, somewhat breathless. With that, Narcissa swept through the crowd in an elegant swirl of emerald skirts. For a time, Hermione and Draco simply stared after her. "You mother is…"

"Meddlesome," he offered helpfully.

"Lovely," she said. Draco gave her a long, searching look. She looked up at him and smirked. "Were you adopted? Because I don't believe you share any of her genes."

Draco rolled his eyes, scowling. Together they made their way back through the crowd until they joined Harry, Ginny, Pansy and Blaise once more. Pansy was directing a strange look at them and Hermione belatedly realized just how close she was standing to Draco. She subtly took a step to the side.

"What have you two been up to? Kingsley came looking for you with several quality gentlemen and women who wanted to meet you," Blaise said.

"What a shame I missed them," Draco murmured, though anyone could tell he didn't consider it a shame at all.

Pansy wasn't going to let the first half of Blaise's inquiry go unanswered. "So what were you two up to?" she demanded.

Draco quirked a brow, amused by Pansy's eagerness. "My mother cornered Granger and I chivalrously swept in to spare her my mother's antics."

"You met Narcissa?" Pansy exclaimed giddily. "Isn't she just the most kind and elegant lady you've ever met?"

Hermione nodded. "She's very sweet and the embodiment of poise. I was enjoying our conversation up until Malfoy interrupted with his grim mood."

Draco pursed his lips, eyes flashing. "I'm not grim."

"You're a little grim, mate," Harry insisted. The others nodded emphatically.

"Well forgive me for resenting all of this ostentatious pomp and circumstance. It's no desire of mine to see my face plastered on every page of the Prophet," he growled moodily.

The conversation lightened after this and Hermione fell into silence, content to just listen to her friends' blithe chatter. Malfoy stood quietly beside her, hands buried in his pockets, eyes scanning the room. He always seemed so alert. Hermione wondered if it was due to spending two years watching his back.

"Your mother mentioned something shocking earlier," she said softly.

He didn't look at her, but his jaw tightened. "And what, pray tell, was that?"

Hermione couldn't help the grin that forced its way onto her face. "She said you think I'm a bright young witch."

Draco tensed beside her.

"And that's an exact quote. I'm quite flattered," Hermione teased. "To think the great Draco Malfoy complimented me, albeit indirectly. I might just swoon."

Draco turned his head towards her, staring at her with no trace of humour on his face. "You don't think I'm capable of complimenting you?" he asked, a challenge in his eyes.

Hermione shrugged, nonchalant. Frankly, she didn't expect anything from him. She just wanted to rile him up a bit, get back at him for some of the jabs he'd thrown at her over the past two weeks. "I don't think your pride could handle complimenting me in person."

She looked up at him and her smirk faltered. He was gazing intently at her, as if weighing something significant in his mind. He subtly angled his body towards her own, leaning close to her, his steel-grey eyes firmly holding her own. "Well, then permit me to say that you look beautiful tonight. In fact, I'm tempted to say that you're the most striking woman in the room," he breathed, his lips close to her ear, eyes commanding her own.

Hermione felt her knees tremble beneath her. Her heart lurched in her chest and all of a sudden she forgot the most basic function of how to breathe. She could feel a deep blush staining her pale cheeks. He chuckled deeply and stood his full height once more, clearly pleased with himself. Hermione averted her gaze, unsure of how to handle the situation. Was he goading her? Teasing her? She really couldn't tell. He had spoken so assuredly, like to him those words were a simple truth.

"I'll pass the compliment along to Pansy. She's the one who chose the outfit," Hermione replied tersely, brushing aside the compliment entirely in hopes of diffusing the disconcerting intensity of his words.

"I'm not complimenting Pansy, Granger. I'm complimenting you," he said, voice deep, hardly louder than a whisper.

Hermione tried to look into his eyes, but those silver orbs were far too intense. She couldn't handle their force. "What are you playing at?" she asked shakily, careful to not be overhead by those clustered closely around them.

Draco pursed his lips. "What are you on about?"

"You're trying to get a rise from me, aren't you?" she hissed accusingly, fighting back the feeling of hurt. He was trying to embarrass her – it was the only possibility, the only reasonable explanation.

"You need to learn how to take a compliment, Granger," he replied, his tone suddenly taking on an unexpected edge. He turned away from her, as if abruptly disinterested by their conversation. At the same moment, Ginny's voice interrupted the conversation transpiring around them.

"Everything all right you two?"

All eyes simultaneously focused on the two quiet members of the group. Hermione nodded fervently.

"Everything's swell," Draco drawled, as if completely unbothered by the interaction they'd just had. "I was just about to leave, actually."

Hermione thought that Malfoy leaving was just as well. If he wouldn't have, then she would have gladly done so to escape the tension that had abruptly mounted between them. He made his goodbyes, ignoring Hermione altogether. She tried not to let that bother her. She'd exhausted her quota of Malfoy-hours for the day. She fully intended on recovering from the evening by curling up in bed with Crookshanks and a good book: the cure for all ills. She was seeing more of Malfoy than she had in… well, she had never seen this much of him. Ever. It took some getting used to. A little downtime was all that she needed to be right as rain in the morning.

**There you have it. The next chapter ups the intensity as Hermione and Draco slowly start piecing together a rather disturbing connection between Hermione and the murders…**


	5. Breakthru

**Apologies for the delay! It's just been really busy this past week. I'll have the next chapter posted by Saturday. Thank you for the reviews - love the feedback! Hope ya'll enjoy this one! **

CHAPTER FIVE:

_Breakthru_

Hermione felt refreshed the following morning. It was Friday and she was planning on revisiting the site of the first murder before taking the weekend to really comb through the intricate details again. She went in to work that morning dressed the part of a muggle in a pair of jeans, sneakers and a rain jacket to ward off the on-and-off showers outside. She wanted to blend in when she got there. If she wanted to stop more needless death, then she had to start making headway. She had to learn his method and soon.

Pansy wasn't in the office yet, it was only eight in the morning and the Slytherin made it a point to always arrive at nine-thirty on the nose, when her official hours began. Pansy wasn't one to work overtime, insisting that the concept was 'unglamorous' and 'just plain sad'.

The rest of the office was quiet as well. Taking advantage of the next hour of solitude, Hermione made her way to the training centre, which was perfectly quiet. In a manner of minutes, she had adorned a pair of cotton shorts, a long-sleeve sweatshirt and wrapped her hands in tape. She pulled on a pair of black gloves and made her way to a fifty-pound heavy bag at the back of the room. Tying up her hair up into a high ponytail, she unleashed the pent up frustration that had been building up within her for the past month.

In four weeks there had been three murders. She had to put a stop to it, had to clear the fog that seemed to be clinging to synapses of her brain. She released her anger in a series of precise punches, jabs, and kicks, bouncing on her toes to keep her heart-rate high.

The Ministry always encouraged employees within the Internal Defense Department to keep their fitness up and outside of regular office hours, they were all granted access to the facility. Hermione liked to start her day when possible with some exercise but lately hadn't had the time or motivation. For the first time in a long time she felt the frustrations flee her body as quickly as the sweat poured down her face and back.

Forty minutes later, the first of the aurors began to trickle in. Hermione shed her gloves, tucking them beneath her arms as she began to unwind her tape. Distracted, she made for the changing room, sweat glistening on her skin, cheeks flushed and giving her a healthy glow that had been absent on her face for the past few days. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips as she crossed the room. She almost made it to the locker room when Harry walked in with Draco, both chatting amicably.

It was a strange sight, one that Hermione had never thought she'd see. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy chatting like old friends. It was almost ludicrous. She lowered her head, hoping beyond reasonable hope that she'd go unnoticed. But that was not to be.

"Hermione!" Harry hollered.

Hermione groaned inwardly and raised her head, smiling at Harry. She waved a half-unbound hand and made her way towards the two men, somewhat self-conscious of her sweaty face and apparel. "I was just going to shower," she said by way of explanation, wiping the sweat off her brow with the back of her arm as she continued to unbind her hands.

She could sense Draco's eyes on her but elected to ignore him, continuing to unbind her clammy hands.

"I haven't seen you box in months," Harry observed, grinning. "Back in the game, are you?"

Hermione shrugged. "I needed to let off some steam. The bag always does the trick." She finally freed both of her hands from their tightly bound wraps. "I'll see you around," she murmured.

"Don't go yet," Harry insisted. "I was just going to whoop Malfoy's arse at a duel," he said eagerly.

"Debatable, Potter," Draco said tightly.

Hermione smiled at Harry, amused by his eagerness. Her eyes shifted to Draco who was watching her, waiting for her answer. "I don't know…"

"Come on!" Harry exclaimed, grabbing her clammy hand and forcibly dragging her towards the dueling ring. Hermione heard Draco chuckling softly behind them. She restrained the urge to hex her best friend. "It'll be ten minutes. You won't regret it."

Hermione waited on the sidelines while Harry and Draco climbed into the ring. A few of the early morning arrivals gathered around as well and Hermione was informed that Harry and Draco had begun a tradition of dueling in the mornings to start the day since Draco had first returned from his mission. Hermione gripped the wires, peering over them, eyes intent.

The two men lithely withdrew their wands, assuming the defensive stance. Harry's stance was textbook—lightly balanced, wrist delicately poised, shoulders back. Draco on the other hand had a less refined stance—he was almost slack-looking, less rigid and more organic. The duel began with a flick of Harry's wand and a rapid-fire battle ensued. Hermione was awed. Never before had she seen such a display of powerful wand showmanship. Harry cast powerful spell after spell. Each one that struck Draco's defenses knocked him back an inch or two. Harry was a master, that much was obvious, but Draco respectably held his own against Harry's onslaught.

Hermione watched the blonde, unwittingly mesmerised by his lithe, dancer-like grace. He was almost ethereal. His progress around the ring was silent. Hermione realized belatedly that the entire battle was silent. Neither spoke a word, casting wordless spells with the ease of breathing. Hermione observed Draco some more. His silver eyes were narrowed with fierce concentration and he got a few effective spells in edgewise. His face shone with a light sweat, his lean, muscled body adapting its stance as he countered each assault. He was beautiful, she thought. Then mentally smacked herself. His _dueling form_ was beautiful, she corrected herself.

The duel ended with Draco on his back, Harry's wand pressed to his white throat. The two men stared fiercely into each other's eyes, chests heaving. Hermione instinctively clutched her wand in her hand, instinctively anticipating a fight, but then Draco's scowl morphed into the brightest smile she had ever seen grace the dour man's face and he began to laugh. Harry laughed too and helped Draco to his feet, clapping him on the back. Hermione was utterly speechless. She hadn't known Draco was capable of looking _happy. _The two men seemed so close and Hermione felt an unwelcome twinge of jealousy flicker within her. She pushed it back down.

Harry hopped over the ring, followed by Draco. Their foreheads were beaded with sweat, but their eyes were bright with satisfaction. "So?" Harry demanded, hands on his hips. "What did I tell you?"

"I'm impressed," Hermione said, her eyes flickering to Draco. "You're both very talented. I wish I was as adept."

"Years of practice and honing technique," Harry said. He glanced over to his left where a group of young aurors appeared to be gearing up. "Look, I gotta go round up some trainees, but I'll see you later." He hugged her quickly. "Thanks for indulging me!" he called over his shoulder, leaving Hermione standing awkwardly beside Draco.

She rocked on her heels for a moment before meeting his grey eyes and forcing a thin smile to her face. "Great job out there," she said. She tried to ignore it when his eyes lowered to her bare legs, lingering. Was he checking her out? No way. Awkward. Awkward. Awkward.

Draco seemed to catch himself and looked up at her, shrugging. "Not my best."

"Better than I could manage," Hermione replied.

"You don't train often?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I enjoy boxing, but I realized after the war that fighting just wasn't right for me. I'm better suited at using my intellect to diffuse situations than doing it forcibly." She felt the overpowering urge to run away from him as he stared intently at her with those discerning, molten silver eyes. Why was she inviting conversation upon them? She was losing it. Yep. Off her rocker, she was.

"I'm probably out of practice, anyway. Well, at least out of practice to play in your league," she said lightly.

"Show me," he said.

Hermione raised her brows. "Pardon?"

He nodded at her wand which hung loosely between her fingers. "Show me what you've got."

Hermione tightened her hand around her wand and shook her head vehemently. "No. I'd better not."

"Afraid I'll beat you at something?" he taunted, eyes sparkling slyly.

"No," Hermione said quickly, though she was quite sure her pride wouldn't be able to handle a gloating Draco.

Draco pursed his lips. "You know, even if you don't enjoy duelling anymore, you shouldn't let yourself go. It's a dangerous field you're in," he said levelly, leaning against the ring.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I've managed just fine the past few years, thanks very much."

He merely shrugged again. "Suit yourself."

Hermione wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but maturely resisted the urge. "Besides, I have to prepare some things before revisiting the earliest murder location," she explained.

Draco straightened at this. "When should I be at your office then?"

Hermione gave him a look of confusion.

"I'll have to accompany you."

"Say what now?" she demanded.

"I'm your security detail," he said simply.

"Yes, I'm aware of that unfortunate circumstance. But why are you under the mistaken impression that you'll be accompanying me?"

"Because I'm your security detail and that's what the job entails."

Hermione pursed her lips, grip tightening around her wand and gloves. "Look, I've let you invade my home and my parents' home with your ward-enhancing protocol, but I'm perfectly capable and quite content to do this on my own." With that she turned stiffly on her heels and began to walk away. He was matching her pace a second later.

"That's not how this works," he stated plainly, but she could hear the impatience infiltrating his tone. "You can't conduct investigative work on the case outside of the Ministry without me there to escort you."

Hermione came to an abrupt halt, glowering up at him. "I don't need your help or your protection, or whatever this is," she insisted angrily.

"You don't have a choice," Draco sneered, "unless you want to take this up with Kingsley. I'm sure he'll be none too pleased that you're trying to evade procedure. You know how he reveres the rules," he seethed.

Hermione bristled, clenching her fists. She was not in the mood to get into an altercation with the Minister. At the first sign of resistance to this arrangement, he could have her off the case and that just would not do.

"Be outside my office at ten o'clock," was all she said before storming into the locker room without a backward glance.

**.cppw.**

Hermione came out of her office at nine fifty-five. She was surprised to find Draco leaning casually against Pansy's reception desk. They were laughing at something and Hermione was stricken by the look of unrestrained delight on Draco's face. That was twice in one morning that he'd worn that look of unadulterated pleasure.

He looked like a whole other person, one she had never seen before. He looked different with his face open and expressing untainted delight. The pair looked so content, chatting amicably, that Hermione felt a little unwilling to interrupt them. Some psychologically disturbed part of her brain wanted to appraise Draco's face for a while longer. But she needn't have worried because Pansy spotted her a moment later and waved her over.

Hermione hesitantly made her way towards them. She noticed how Draco's smile fell and he straightened as she approached. She tried not to let that bother her.

"Ready to go?" she asked him. He nodded silently in reply. She took note of his casual ensemble, a pair of jeans and a black sweater. He looked… human, like a regular guy. She pulled on her coat and he did the same.

"Good luck you two," Pansy chimed. "I hope you find something to help with the case."

"Thanks Pansy," Hermione said. "See you later."

Draco followed her quietly into the lift. A few seconds passed before he finally spoke up. "So where are we going?"

"A small muggle town. The first woman was killed outside of a muggle hospital."

Draco nodded thoughtfully as the lift jerked to and fro. "Tell me about her."

Hermione was taken aback by his genuine interest and quickly recited what she knew. "Georgie Dawes was a nurse at St. Jerome's hospital. She was a witch and coordinated with St. Mungo's. She helped cure or lessen the pain of some of the more severely injured or ill at St. Jerome's."

"St. Mungo's gets involved like that?" he asked, surprised.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. It's a pretty covert little operation that they run. That's the extent of their meddling in muggle medicine, though." She took a breath and continued. "So, Georgie Dawes was twenty-three, no boyfriend or previous relationships. She was living with her single mother, had some great friends and loved her job. She was happy…" Hermione trailed off, feeling her heart clench in her chest.

Draco stared at her, thoughtful. "You'll bring her justice, Granger. You'll bring all those girls justice," he said. His tone was tight but firm.

Hermione nodded half-heartedly. The lift reached the lobby at that moment and she turned to face the doors as they slid open. She wasn't expecting to be met with an onslaught of reporters and cameras. The moment Draco had been spotted through the opening doors, small group of fifteen or so reporters had surged forward. The flashes blinded Hermione who stood shocked still by Draco's side, watching, eyes wide, as he was accosted by camera flashes and impertinent questions.

She felt herself getting shoved roughly out of the way, nearly falling over, as one particularly rude reporter tried to get close to Draco. "Hey!" she cried out, indignant, straightening herself out and rounding on the reporter. "Watch it you insolent cretin!"

The reporter sneered at her, unkind eyes flashing remorselessly. "No one gets between me and a front page story, sweetheart." he replied rudely.

What happened next was almost too rapid for Hermione to fully register and too surreal to really believe. In a flash, Draco's hands had caught the snide reporter by the collar of his shirt, drawing him up close and personal to his unfriendly, sneering face. Draco was seething, anger palpable beneath those roiling grey eyes. Hermione's eyes nearly bugged out. A hush fell upon the rest of the reporters who watched on, fascinated by Draco's aggressive reaction to Hermione being roughed up.

"That's no way to speak to a lady," he sneered, eyeing the man with distaste. "I think you owe her an apology."

It wasn't a request. Draco's murderous tone and threatening hold were clear indication of just how little choice the reporter had in the matter.

"A-apologies, miss," the reporter stuttered, eyes wide with panic.

"Much better," Draco said icily, still holding the man up by the collar. The reporter's face was turning increasingly red and he was releasing short puffs of strangled breath. It didn't look like Draco was going to let him go anytime soon. Hermione, desperately wanting to escape the inquisitive audience watching their encounter, tentatively touched his tensed shoulder.

"Malfoy," she whispered.

He seemed to come to his senses because he thrust the journalist away with disgust and then did something even more shocking. If Hermione wasn't a young and healthy woman she likely would have gone into cardiac arrest. He grabbed her hand securely in his own, intertwining their fingers with natural ease, and dragged her behind him through the throng of shocked reporters. A few quick flashes went off behind them as he pulled her to the apparating point. Hands still intertwined, Hermione hastily side-along apparated them away.

When they landed, Hermione instinctively jerked her hand out of his grip, not wanting to think of how his strong fingers wrapped assuredly around her own had made her feel strangely… safe. She chanced a look up at her 'partner' (for all intents and purposes) and it was as if a dark storm cloud had fallen over his sullen face.

"Um. Thanks for that," she said uncertainly.

"He was being a prick," Draco muttered gruffly.

Hermione didn't know what to say, so she silently made her way to the parking lot where Georgie Dawes' body had been found. She was aware of Draco's presence at her back when she stopped at the fifth parking space in the line.

"They found her here. Between two cars," she said quietly.

Hermione began to look around the scene for a while, pleased to see Draco setting aside his foul mood to look along with her for anything out of the ordinary. Twenty minutes into it, and Hermione stopped altogether. She knew it was fruitless. She wasn't going to find anything. It had been too long.

"Who am I kidding?" she asked aloud. "This guy is meticulous. He wipes every scene clean. I don't know what to do." She ran a hand over her face, frustrated.

Draco was quiet for a moment, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "When I was reading through your case file, I noticed one of your notes on the third murder scene, where you found the ribbon."

"Yeah?" Hermione asked, impatiently, massaging her temples as she considered what she might be missing or failing to see.

"The note said you had frequented the tennis courts as a little girl," he continued.

Hermione's head shot up. "How much of the case file did you read?" she asked, surprised by his diligence.

"All of it." He narrowed his eyes at her shocked expression. "It's my responsibility to keep you safe, and therefore it's my responsibility to be as informed about the case as you are."

"Oh."

Draco gave her a long, searching look, before pressing on. "On the ribbon he asked if you understood the game." His face darkened considerably at this, those perceptive silver eyes boring into her brown ones.

Hermione shuffled uneasily under his gaze. "And?" she snapped, coming off more abruptly than she'd intended.

Draco frowned. "Do you really not realize what all these girls have in common?" His question was posed gently, in a tone that Hermione had never heard him use before. It was the kind of voice someone employed when they wanted to keep someone calm before unleashing a potentially upsetting truth statement.

Hermione scrunched up her face. "Of course I do. It's all in the file that you apparently so diligently read. They're all brunettes, early to mid-twenties, average height. Um… none of them were unhappy, neither were they in relationships…" she paused. "I don't know what else. They're all England-born, and – "

"Granger," Draco interrupted, looking incredibly serious, like a difficult internal debate was raging within his mind. He said her name as if trying to get her to open her eyes to something that was incredibly obvious. He looked almost… sympathetic.

"What?" she demanded, agitated that he had interrupted her, and bothered by his uncommonly mild expression.

"It's _you_."

Hermione's lips parted. Her dark eyes connected with his as she struggled to make sense of his ambiguous statement.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked hoarsely.

Draco shook his head, glancing around to ascertain that they were completely alone. He stepped closer to her, forcing her to look the whole way up at him. "Brunettes. Mid-twenties. Average height. All of a similar build. Granger, you fit the profile."

Hermione shook her. There was absolutely no way it could be that simple. _Thousands_ of witches fit that profile. But then again… the second murder had been outside her primary school. She had received those invasive photos from the killer and the threatening message that he was coming for her, which she had hid from everyone. But why her?

"No," she said simply; firmly, shaking her head, curls bouncing around her shoulders.

"Think about it," Draco hissed, stepping closer and grabbing her shoulders. "Do you understand the game? It's a game and he's playing it with you, Granger. _You_. Somehow you're a part of all of this," he insisted. "He's made you a part of this."

Hermione felt a slight tremor start throughout her body. She blinked up at him. "The second murder happened at my primary school," she breathed.

Draco's hands fell away from her shoulders, surprise evident on his face. Anger quickly replaced it, however, which somewhat relieved Hermione since it was an expression she was used to dealing with when it came to Draco. "And you didn't think that was worth putting in your report?"

Hermione shook her head. "Kinglsey would have taken me off the case if he had known it was potentially personal."

"Damn right he would have!" Draco shouted. "And with good reason! Do you realize just how much danger you could be in?"

Hermione cringed, wrapping her arms around herself. They were onto something finally, as upsetting as this breakthrough was turning out to be, it was something, some hint at the killer's psyche. She stepped around Draco to look up at the hospital before them, an old square-like, brownstone building. St. Jerome's—now why did that sound suddenly so familiar?

She shoved her hand into her pocket and yanked out her cellular phone. Draco stared at her, bewildered, as she punched several numbers on the screen. She put it against her ear.

"What is that?" he asked, giving her a strange look.

"A cell phone," she replied distractedly. "I'll explain later."

After a few rings, the familiar voice of Jane Granger came alive on the other end.

"Hi, mom."

Draco narrowed his eyes, pressing in closer to her to listen to her side of the conversation. Hermione tried to ignore the warmth of that his body permeated into hers by his sheer proximity.

"Hello darling. What are you up to?" Jane asked.

"I'm just working on that murder investigation."

"Is everything all right? You're being careful, aren't you?"

"Yes mom," she replied, a little impatient to get to the point of her call. "Look, I was just wondering if a hospital called St. Jerome's meant anything to you…"

"St. Jerome's Hospital in Chigwell?"

"That's the one," Hermione said quietly, a feeling of dread building in her stomach. And suddenly she remembered, right before her mother confirmed it.

"Why, sweetheart," Jane cooed gently. "That's where you were born."

Hermione's face paled, and her body felt suddenly like a block of ice. Draco seemed to detect her altered mood because he looked at her inquiringly. Hermione quickly hung up with her mother.

"What is it?" he asked immediately.

Hermione blinked a few times before looking up into his silver eyes that betrayed his expectation of ill tidings.

"I was born here."

**.cppw.**

Hermione sat in her swivel chair back in her office at the Ministry, watching as Draco slowly paced before her, rubbing the back of his neck. He was deep in thought, perpetually frowning.

"You have to tell him. You have to tell Kingsley," he said finally, pausing to look at her.

"I know," she said quietly. "But I'm not dropping the case. I won't let him scare me and I won't let any more girls suffer because of whatever psychotic fascination or interest this guy has with me."

Draco didn't look too pleased with this, but apparently knew better than to argue with the headstrong witch. He shifted from foot to foot, staring at her shelves of files. "Do you have any idea-"

She cut him off before he could finish. "Don't. There are too many reasons to count as to why someone would want to mess with me, namely because I'm a public figure and a quote-on-quote 'war hero'. I've put plenty of evil people away and I've made plenty of enemies in the process."

Draco turned to her. He licked his lips, looking reluctant. "The things this guy's done... I've seen it before," he said quietly. Hermione looked up at him, eyes wide. "I would see it most summer nights at the Manor during the war."

Hermione swallowed thickly, fighting back the resurfacing memory of screaming and writing on the floor of that dark, dusty manor. "Death Eaters."

He looked away from her, crinkling his straight, aristocratic nose. "Yes."

"I thought you caught the last of them?"

"The last of those we were aware of. A lot of them fell off the grid. We did the best we could," he said bitterly. He looked aggravated and Hermione recognized the expression on his face. It was one that she had worn numerous times before since these murders had begun.

Unthinkingly, she rose and walked over to him. He lowered his gaze, looking at her questioningly. "Don't," she said sternly. He frowned, not comprehending. "Don't blame yourself." His jaw twitched at those words. "Let's go."

They passed by a curious Pansy, who immediately became concerned by the two grim faces of her friends. After much prodding, Hermione insisted that they'd tell her later, once a few things were settled first.

A few minutes later, Hermione and Draco were standing inside Kingsley's office, relaying the details of their investigation that morning and the consequent connections they had begun to make.

"This is very serious," Kingsley murmured, his lips pursed. "Miss Granger, if this killer's intent is to lure you out and harm you, then you should no longer be on this case."

Hermione stepped forward, fists clenched at her sides. "You can't. Please, Minister," she pleaded, eyes beseeching. "This is somehow between him and me. He's volatile, sadistic and removing me from the case could trigger a reaction that we might regret. Don't tempt fate," she insisted in a determined voice. She wasn't going to back down. "I'm one of your best agents, Minister. You know I've got a level head. Let me see this through. You know I can do it."

Kingsley leaned back in his seat, thoughtful. He rubbed his forehead, then turned his dark eyes to Draco. "And what do you think, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I don't like it, sir," he said tersely.

Hermione looked up at him feeling betrayed.

"However, Granger knows every intricate detail of this case. This killer has his sights on her and I wouldn't necessarily risk taking her off the investigation. It could do more harm than good. He wants her involvement. Removing her could be a dangerous move."

Hermione felt the pressure ease in her chest. She looked up at Draco who was watching her, face an emotionless slate. She tried to silently convey her thanks. He only frowned and looked away.

"I fear you are right, Mr. Malfoy." Kingsley rose, looking at Hermione with concern. "You can stay on the case."

"Thank you –"

"But you must agree to cooperate with Mr. Malfoy over any and all arrangements he wishes to implement on your private and professional life. This is a very dangerous time and from this point onward, I am charging Mr. Malfoy with full control over your security."

Hermione bristled, indignant, but kept her silence. If seeing more of Draco was the price to pay to stay on the case, then so be it. She could handle him.

"Is this something you are willing to do?" Kingsley asked, directing the question to Draco.

Hermione stared up at the blonde, waiting for his response. She wouldn't be surprised if he turned down the offer. She wouldn't even blame him for it if he did. They weren't exactly 'friends' and he hadn't wanted the job in the first place, anyway.

Draco's lips thinned, several thoughts flashing behind his silver eyes, thoughts known only to him. "Yes."

Hermione gaped at him, astonished.

"Very well, then. I trust you both to work out an appropriate arrangement and I expect regular updates from you on the case," Kingsley stated with finality. "At the very least, I believe that you, Miss Granger, should keep Mr. Malfoy aware of your whereabouts at all times. He should always be able to reach you and he should be informed when you plan to go somewhere."

Hermione, realizing that there was no feasible way out of this unfavourable situation, grudgingly agreed to these terms. She and Draco were excused several moments later and silently made their way back to the Department of Internal Defense. When they reached the training facility, Draco paused.

"We should figure out an arrangement."

Hermione groaned inwardly. "Can we do it later? How about Monday?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I take my responsibilities seriously, Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm heading straight home after work. Saturday morning I'll be going to Harry's for lunch. I'll be home for the rest of the weekend. I promise not to go off gallivanting on my own. Satisfied?" she demanded impatiently.

Draco pursed his lips into a scowl. "Fine." With that he broke off and strode away into the training centre. Hermione threw a childish glare at his backside.

At Pansy's desk, Hermione was instantly accosted with questions, questions she was in no mood to entertain. She had hardly wrapped her own head around the escalation of events; she couldn't very well convey the state of the case to Pansy in any reasonable way.

"What happened? The two of you never looked so forbidding! And the way Draco was watching you… I've only ever seen him look that concerned when his mother was put on trial and almost incarcerated along with Lucius," Pansy explained, nearly bouncing with curiosity.

Hermione rubbed her eyes furiously, feeling a wave of exhaustion threatening to inundate her. "It's a long story, Pansy. One that I'm not entirely sure I grasp just yet."

Pansy nodded in understanding. "Why don't we talk about it later, then? Maybe tomorrow at Harry's. You're going over to lunch, right?" she asked, easily changing the topic.

"Yeah, I'll be there," Hermione said, relieved to not have to talk about the case.

Pansy gave her a quick hug and Hermione contented herself by locking herself away in the office for the remainder of the afternoon. No one bothered to disturb her, or dared to. She probably had Pansy to thank for keeping people away.

The next few hours went by fairly quickly. Hermione recorded meticulous notes on the case, updating them with the conclusions that she had reached with the help of Draco. Yes. His help on this case had truly surprised her.

She hadn't thought Draco would be likely to care about her case, but apparently he did. She regretted to admit that she should probably have made more of an effort to speak with him after their meeting with Kingsley, but she had been in a foul mood.

She didn't want to linger on those thoughts. It was the weekend, and some time away from the office would help her clear her head and restructure her approach to the case.

At seven o'clock in the evening she left her office. The Department of Internal Defense was deserted. Most employees left by four o'clock on Fridays to start the weekend early and spend time with their families.

Hermione pulled on her coat as she walked through the darkness. She had left the office late on many an evening, and could navigate the darkened halls of the department without so much as brushing her hips against the edge of a desk.

Thirty minutes later, Hermione was in her small flat, curled up on her couch with Crookshanks, eating a grilled ham and cheese sandwich while re-runs of _The Sopranos _played on the tube_. _She had just had one of the longest days of her life, and yet she couldn't bring herself to sleep.

It might have been knowing that somewhere in England a sadist murderer was making plans in a sick scheme that somehow involved her, or the way the coffee table drawer seemed to be glaring at her, reminding her of the invasive and threatening photos that lay within it.

She jerkily rose from the couch, pushing Crookshanks somewhat brusquely off her lap. The half-kneazle didn't appear too pleased by this, a low grumble making known his displeasure.

Treading into the small kitchen, Hermione slipped her dinner plate into the sink. It was nearly midnight by now, but Hermione was restless. Her eyes kept darting nervously to that drawer of photos, knowing that there was more sinister meaning behind them than she had previously allowed herself to believe.

A loud thump from the living room had her lurching forward, wand drawn and ready to cast. Her wide brown eyes fell upon her cat who sat innocently on the edge of the couch, the remote control on the floor below him. She released a shaky breath and stumbled towards the cat, lifting the ginger creature into her arms and hugging him fiercely.

"You almost gave me a heart attack you furry little idiot," she chastised, her fingers running through his long hair. Crookshanks began to loudly purr in her arms, quite content by this change of events.

Hermione knew then, staring around at her empty, dark little apartment, that she wouldn't be able to sleep alone that night. She couldn't go to her parents. They'd simply worry too much, and she couldn't impose herself on Harry and Ginny—they had kids, a family to take care of. Instead, with Crookshanks still in her arms, his paws lazily clutching her shoulder, she marched into her bathroom and shoved her tooth brush into her pocket, before hurrying into her quiet little bedroom and grabbing a pillow and an oversized t-shirt that she slept in. Without further ado, she apparated to Pansy's flat in central London.

Hermione knocked briskly on the door the moment she arrived, standing awkwardly in the fancy apartment hallway with a pillow, cat and change of clothes in hand. Pansy opened the door a moment later, her vivid green eyes wide with surprise that quickly morphed into concern upon seeing her best friend's weary expression.

Pansy ushered her in, no questions asked. Hermione realized then how lucky she was to have an unhitched girlfriend who she could crash with whenever she pleased. She discarded her pillow, cat and shirt on her plush couch and turned back to her friend.

"Pansy, I really appreciate this. I just—I couldn't sleep alone tonight. It was a pretty horrible day," Hermione admitted.

Pansy squeezed Hermione's hand sympathetically. "Draco told me it was a hard day for you. He didn't say much, wasn't in a talking mood. He just said that you had made some progress."

Hermione tried to ignore the fact that Draco would speak to Pansy about her in such a sympathetic way. It just seemed so out of character for him. She had to keep reminding herself that he was a seemingly changed man, albeit the occasional derision on his behalf.

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow," Hermione promised. "You're a real lifesaver, Pansy."

Pansy shifted nervously suddenly, her cheeks beginning to tint bright red. Hermione narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious. "Okay, what's up?" she demanded.

The black-haired woman pursed her lips together. "You know that whenever you crash I always let you share my luxurious king-sized bed," she began uneasily. Hermione nodded encouragingly. "Well, I sort of can't tonight…"

Pansy needn't have said anything else, because at that moment a tall, lean figure emerged from her bedroom, shirtless and in a pair of low hanging black boxers. Hermione's eyes bugged out of her skull, her mouth gaping. Pansy followed her gaze and groaned, covering her face in sheer embarrassment.

"This is exactly what it looks like," Blaise said with a sultry smile, coming to stand beside Pansy.

Hermione's gaping mouth closed and morphed into an amused smile. "This is great," she said simply. Pansy looked shocked. Blaise just looked like a sleepy, hazy-eyed man who had just had amazing sex with a beautiful woman. "Malfoy's going to love this," she murmured thoughtfully, refusing to analyze why she had thought of him of all people in that moment.

"Malfoy?" Blaise asked, quirking a dark brow.

Hermione brushed him off. "I'm really happy for you both. But when did this happen?"

Pansy bit her lip, fighting a silly grin. "Over the past few days, actually. You've been busy with work and I hadn't been seeing much of you at the office. Blaise kept coming around to keep me company."

"I was working my flirtation on her," Blaise clarified. "I must say my seamless plan worked rather effectively in securing her affection, as you can well see."

Pansy smacked his arm playfully. "I guess Blaise and I have always liked each other," she started, but Blaise gently interrupted her.

"If Draco hadn't asked me to join his team two years ago, I would have asked Pansy out. But knowing that I'd be gone for two years, that there was an uncertainty that I'd even get back to England…" he shrugged, unconsciously intertwining his fingers with hers. "Well, I couldn't do that to myself or to Pansy. I had to satisfy myself with dreaming about her at night for two years."

Pansy sighed happily, gazing lovingly into the tall Italian's eyes. She wrapped her arms around his strong neck, pulling him down into a searing kiss. Blaise eagerly wrapped his arms around the petite girl reciprocating the kiss with fervour. It was fascinating to see how strongly the two were connected, but unsettling at the same time. Their sheer intensity was envy-worthy.

When she caught a glimpse of tongues clashing, Hermione blushed and averted her gaze. She felt like an unwelcome voyeur.

"Well, as romantic as your story is, I'm not really inclined to witness two of my friends getting it on, so…" she gestured towards Pansy's bedroom.

Blaise chuckled darkly, kissing Pansy's forehead. "See you in there," he murmured against her hair. He winked at Hermione. "Night Granger."

Hermione smiled in return. When he was out of sight, Hermione turned to Pansy and mouthed: _Oh, my God!_ Pansy giggled and jumped into Hermione's arms, overjoyed.

"I know!" she squealed. "I don't know what it is, but I'm absolutely taken by him. He's so romantic, Hermione. And passionate! And he kisses like an angel. I feel so lucky," she exclaimed breathlessly.

"He's a great guy. I'm glad you two finally realized your mutual connection," Hermione said. "I really don't want to impose, though," she added as an afterthought.

Pansy waved her off. "If you don't mind crashing on the couch, then it's yours for the night."

Hermione bid her friend good night, conjured a warm tartan blanket and stripped out of her jeans and pullover. She threw her large t-shirt over her black boy short underwear and curled up on Pansy's couch. Crookshanks curled himself up on the inside of her bent knees. There, secure and safe in a flat with two people she trusted, Hermione was finally able to sleep.


End file.
